Deartháir
by Phenobarbital
Summary: Connor saw the grin on his twin's face even from a side angle but was surprised when Murphy hooked an arm around his shoulders and yanked him closer so he could place a kiss to the side of Connor's head, against his hair. Connor reached up to pat the side of Murphy's face but in a moment of desire to do more, he grasped Murphy's face instead and turned so they were face to face...
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Boondock Saints.**

**Sub Disclaimer: I do not own Damien Rice's music and lyrics.**

**NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly. **

**Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale**

**Pairing: Twincest (Connor/Murphy)**

**Movie Verse:** **First Movie; Pre Canon - Canon / Canon Deviation**

**Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Connor and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.**

**Sub Notes - I apologize to any Catholic/Religious readers if the content in this story offends you, it is not intended to. I also apologize for any inaccuracies with the religious content, I have tried my best to correctly reference and portray the faith, whilst staying true to my plot line.**

**- I'd like to thank a friend and reader of mine for introducing me to Damien Rice, he was part of the inspiration for this story.**

**- This story takes place during the context of the movie Boondock Saints.**

**- Story title is pronounced Dreh-haw-ir (Translates - Brother)  
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><p><strong>PROLOGUE<strong>

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><p><em>Fuck you, and all we've been through...<em>

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><p>The prison break had been planned…and had been perpetual chaos from the very second their individual isolation cell doors were opened.<p>

Guards had been involved in the break out, the few of them who were good men, men who believed in Connor and Murphy's calling, in their cause which left in its wake blood and bodies, the sudden deaths of delivered souls. As far as they'd come to know, millions more people supported them, thousands petitioned for their release from prison, hundreds took up the **cause** in their absence, killing in their names, just as Connor and Murphy did in the name of God…

…and a careful few individuals had been working on an intricate plan to get them out all the while.

Of course, that didn't mean it would be simple, or legal.

They knew in that exact moment, as twins, brothers, souls, hearts, minds and lives having always been in perfect sync, they shared the awareness, the feelings of anxiety and the thrill of exhilaration, when their cells were opened at an unscheduled time in the late of night after lock down…they knew it was time to leave. They were meant to break out that night, back to freedom, back to the world beyond the prison walls, so they could eventually return to their purpose and their cause.

Their close, trusted people...had finally made it possible.

Connor and Murphy knew.

And they'd hoped it would go smoothly, but they'd known better, deep down inside.

Because the guards were armed and they weren't to be, and their hands had to remain cuffed for appearances.

But if it was the only way, then it was the way they'd do it.

Two separate guards walked Connor to Murphy and Murphy to Connor after removing them from their cells, bringing them together in a corridor at a set of stairs. The twins shared a look, the one they shared often when they sought to look inside of the other's thoughts and feelings, to be certain, on the same page, to know they were both ready because one would never leave the other behind.

Not for a second. Not for a bullet. Not for a death. Not for anything. It was both of them or neither of them.

And once they were sure of each other both mentally and then in physical presence, they turned their attention back to the puzzled guards who had been watching them between glances around.

Murphy's guard led the way from there and the brothers stayed close, walking so their arms and shoulders brushed, because the hall they were walking through was lowly lit along rows of cells and they had to be close to the other, in case they needed to defend themselves or one another, with their hands restricted they'd need one another physically to fight.

A few inmates were awake and a good few of those had picked fights with Connor and Murphy months before they'd been moved into isolation for their own safety, as well as the other inmates, because the brothers saw a few of their new peers dead just a week into their incarceration.

They'd lacked their guns but they'd used their bare hands, which had only brought them closer to God when they prayed at night in their separate cells, while knowing the other was a block away, doing the same.

Being in separate cells had been difficult for them, the separation ate away at their sleep and their peace of mind but they'd had to endure.

Since young boys they'd never slept more than four feet apart, whether it had been in the same bed or individually. Whether it was in their home or in motels after a job, they'd move the beds closer together if they weren't in too much physical pain and other times they'd just collapse in the same bed, seeking comfort and security in the other.

So sleeping in different cells, meters apart, walls between them, without the other's breathing and presence to placate them, had affected them on a level people would never understand.

Their specially granted time alone in the yard for an hour a day was their only reprieve and they often sat and talked while they smoked, because the guards favored them with cigarettes, and sometimes they prayed together because they weren't able to do it as they usually would in the mornings and evenings.

Leaving prison would mean so much for their peace of mind, their happiness, their closeness, the intimacy of their brotherhood. They both _needed_ to be free again.

They kept their breathing steady as they walked the hall, one guard ahead, one behind.

And Connor had just wondered whether everything was going to go according to plan at the same time as he felt Murphy tense beside him and their feelings of question and anxiousness merged, warning bells going off in their heads when the lights suddenly went on and the loud, heavy sound of a buzzer served as their only warning that the cells in the block would all simultaneously open.

Panic.

Connor saw it in the guards faces, something was wrong. Someone had set them up.

Murphy took in a sharp breath, narrowed blue eyes quickly looking around at the upper level and then lower level of the cell block, before he turned suddenly, his hands grabbing and shoving Connor forward toward the exit gate at the end of the cell block.

They broke into a run with the two guards; there was an eruption of noise and calamity around them along with a rush of adrenalin and the feeling of Murphy's hot hands and hard knuckles digging into Connor's back as they ran to get away from the approximately one hundred inmates charging at them.

They had to shove violently through a few nearer attacking inmates, in their bound states, and it was risky since there were shivs made from various objects that they struggled to avoid and didn't manage to entirely.

There was no getting out of the cell block uninjured.

They'd lost one of the guards by the time they shut the exit gate, Connor knew he would have bruises on his forearm, he also had a slash on his lower back and a black eye forming. Murphy had a swelling eye of his own, a split lip, a limp and a gash on his shoulder.

Their blood seeped and stained their dark prison jumpsuits in slow, wet patches soaking into the heavy material.

They'd lost more blood before, they'd hurt from worse wounds…it was nothing to them.

The guard uncuffed them once they were securely on the other side of the gate in a different cell block, he handed his firearm to Connor and his baton to Murphy as the chaos crescendoed around them. There were other guards now rushing their way, but they were sent to apprehend the twins and the guard with the brothers motioned for them to follow him.

They ran again, ignoring the shouts to stop, ignoring the guns aimed at them, the shots fired that they narrowly avoided. They were nearly stumbling as they ducked, sparks flying as the bullets ricocheted off walls and still closed cell bars, having to fight off the hands reaching through to grab them, to hold them, stop them.

They would not be stopped.

Connor let off a few unaimed shots as he ran and managed to hit an enemy guard in the shoulder and that only made the forces working against them angrier.

But there were other prison guards working with them and they were waiting, on duty at all the right gates from that point on, letting the twin's through as they were chased and shot at, yelled at and grabbed at. Connor cared only for the thread of consciousness and acute awareness he had for his brother's breathing just behind him, the sight of him in his peripheral. Murphy was focused on Connor just in front of him and on their destination, the prisons exit gates, they needed to get out.

Just out.

And then they were.

As they ran into the cool night air, they were directed to a standard white, plateless, panel van waiting inside the prison's gates. The sirens were going off now as they were rushed to the van, there would be no driver for them because wherever they would go to hide, they had to go alone. So Connor fell into the driver's seat and righted himself in seconds, absently shoving a large black duffle bag on the seat over to the middle between himself and Murphy, who had shut himself in on the passenger's side. Connor handed the gun he held to Murphy as he looked ahead out of the windscreen to the sight, the relieving, blessed sight of the guards opening the final gates for them.

He silently thanked God for the people who were helping them to escape.

That was the thought on Connor's mind as he started the van and started to drive, Murphy clutching the door handle and bracing himself in the seat when Connor pulled forward and the force pushed them both back against the seats. They made it passed the gates, but not without a hail of bullets from the prison towers and the enemy guards rushing out after them, shooting. Murphy glanced back cautiously after ducking glass that had shattered from one of the windows and had left a bullet lodged in the dash, the surprise of which had made Connor swerve the van quite violently.

But once the van was steady on the road and they were a good distance from the gates, both twin's had seen a few of their aiding guards getting shot down, even so the others still shut the gates after them, giving them time, giving them a chance.

A chance to get away, to delay any attempts at being followed.

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><p>Connor and Murphy had been pursued, but the twin's had been able to listen in on the radio which had been placed in the van by their escape organizers, so that they could tune in to the relevant frequency and know where to avoid driving in order to evade capture. That strategy coupled with the fact that the assisting guards had delayed pursuit long enough for Connor and Murphy to ditch the van and steal a car –the most non-descript, run down and easiest to hot wire one they could find on the street-, had worked like a charm, and after that Connor focused on just driving as Murphy said a quiet prayer over their actions that night, inclusive of shooting at innocent prison guards and the theft of the car.<p>

Connor crossed himself and said a mental prayer too as he clutched the steering wheel, his breath hitching, his adrenalin fading, his eyes burning…

Murphy was slumped low in the passenger seat, head pressed back into the seat, throat bared as he swallowed thickly and took deep breaths.

And in silence they drove into the furthest back roads, getting so lost that Connor didn't even know where he was going after the first hour and yet the road looked familiar enough that he kept driving, letting faith guide him, trusting that he'd find a safe place for them to hide.

And it was fine that way…the silence, the calm, the open road.

It was just fine.

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><p>When they'd finally driven into a rundown part of a city hours away from the Boston prison and more than likely completely out of Massachusetts, Connor was exhausted and relieved to see a shitty, corner street motel and he drove up to it, parking in one of the few parking spots away from the flickering neon sign and away from the lights of the entrance. He looked over the building once he'd killed the ignition, leaning forward on the steering wheel, worrying over the possibility of being recognized, but he didn't think it was likely they'd have any problems considering the bad neighborhood. He did grimace a bit when he thought of the fact that the motel was probably frequented by all the wrong types and never for long periods of time, so it would be the worst kind of filthy, but at least it would be cheap.<p>

It hit him then, money…they had no money.

He glanced over to his pale skinned brother, Murphy appeared to have fallen asleep and Connor didn't like the quiet yet weighted feeling of distance in his subconscious which was usually occupied by his twin's physical and mental presence when they were that close to one another.

It was always usually a comfort but now…something felt wrong.

They needed to be in a safe place to reassess the situation and get some rest.

But they had no money, nothing.

He wracked his brain for a few seconds, forehead on the steering wheel, before it struck him that _surely_ the people helping them would not leave them destitute after all that, and that thought made him remember the duffle bag. He turned hurriedly in his seat, suddenly enough that he expected to disturb Murphy, so that he could reach over into the back seat where he'd tossed the black bag they'd taken from the panel van when they changed cars. He pulled the zipper open and it sounded so loud in the silence, along with the soft pops of the hot engine cooling down and the sound of Murphy's very light breathing, his twin hadn't stirred with his movement and it bothered him, they needed to get inside fast.

Connor huffed out a laugh when he rummaged through the bag's contents and felt his tension ease as he breathlessly cursed in relief, dropping his head briefly as he gripped onto the bag which contained six thick wads of crisp $100 dollar bills, four guns, several boxes of bullets, two changes of clothes **and** a bottle of Jameson whiskey. He owed whoever was responsible for the contents many rounds of drinks. Many.

Right then though they needed to get inside and out of sight.

Connor sat properly in his seat and hit the back of his hand against Murphy's arm,

"Murph, wake up, weh' need te' get inside…" he said in an unconscious whisper.

Murphy jolted awake and Connor absently noted the way he clenched his teeth and blearily glanced around the car through his slanted blue eyes, inhaling a bit loudly, Connor figured he must have been properly asleep.

Really, he appreciated the trust, but Connor would have liked Murphy to be more alert considering their situation.

"Where ar' weh?" Murphy asked in a rough voice.

Connor was leaning over the seat again, looking through the bag,

"Some dodgy place outside of Boston, not sure really, seems a good place te' stay fer' the night though, so hurry the fuck up." Connor explained as he zipped up the duffle bag after taking out some cash and a gun and then he pulled it over the seat and into his lap before shoving it at Murphy, who had been sitting up slowly.

Murphy flinched at the action, irritating Connor as the heavy contents inside shifted noisily, "I'm goin' te' pay fer' a room, bring that wit' yeh' when yeh' see me comin' back, alright…?" he didn't wait for an answer.

Connor got out of the car, glancing back at Murphy but he couldn't see him properly in the dark, not really, even as they'd been driving he'd been shadowed. The only thing he'd been really able to discern was the contrast of his twin's dark hair against Murphy's white pallor.

He was approaching the entrance when he remembered his prison clothes, he stopped in a shadowed area away from the nearest street light to pull the top half of his jumpsuit down so it hung off his waist, leaving him in a long sleeve white T-shirt and what looked like dark jeans in bad light. He sniffed and cleared his throat as he checked to see if the gun had been preloaded by ejecting the magazine, when he saw that it was fully loaded he put the safety on –since he'd only use it as a scare tactic- and pushed it into the back of his jumpsuit, covering it with his shirt before he checked his hands for blood, his white shirt, then his arms and lastly he ran his hands over his face.

He didn't worry over his black eye, in that kind of neighborhood it was probably a fairly common sight.

He'd missed a few serious slashes and stabs, but had taken some elbows and a few fists on their way out but aside from the small slash on his lower back, hidden by the folds of the jumpsuit, Connor had avoided any serious injury because the guards had pulled their guns out, which had forced the inmates to give them some room at the time. So while he had blood on his jumpsuit it wasn't noticeable when hanging down and he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows to cover the faint pink blood smears on the sleeve arms.

When he felt presentable enough he made his way into the small, odorous reception, where an elderly, overweight man looked to be fast asleep behind the counter. Connor ran a hand through his short messy hair as he entered and he thanked God for his luck, the man probably hadn't even noticed them arrive and would surely not recognize him, there appeared to be no radio on and the small television was off too, so hopefully the man would have no clue about the prison break.

He glanced around and saw no other doors or spaces where anyone could be and then he pulled the money out of his jumpsuit pocket,

"Excuse me?" he said in his best American accent and lightest most forgetful and unobtrusive tone.

It took a second 'excuse me' before the old man stirred and squinted at Connor as he sat up, then he grabbed at his chest for his glasses where they hung from his neck.

The exchange was quick and quiet, not wordy, and Connor didn't make eye contact with the old man as he paid for a room with one bed, it was a last minute decision, as he planned to sneak Murphy into the room. If the old man did listen to the radio and heard that two inmates had escaped he wouldn't suspect Connor's early hour check in because it was made for a single person.

He said a quiet thanks and walked out with a key, discreetly raising his hand to signal his brother as he approached the car so that Murphy wouldn't get out and then he glanced over his shoulder and smirked when he saw the old man removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes, not even interested in watching Connor.

He reached the room which was two rooms away from the reception and then he glanced at the old man again to see that he wasn't watching before he signaled Murphy to get out.

Connor felt both irritated and worried as his sibling took a bit longer to get out and come over than would have been ideal but since the old man hadn't noticed and Murphy had caught on and closed the car door very quietly, he didn't give his twin a look of question or scolding. Because the vibe he was getting from Murphy in his mind and body told him something was very wrong. Murphy looked weak as he carried the heavy bag and limped nearer, pale and Connor noticed when he got close enough under the moonlit sky, that his skin was sheened with sweat.

Before he'd closed the door and locked them inside, Connor felt his stomach bottom out, because Murphy's eyes had met his when he'd crossed the threshold into the motel room and the look there revealed the **truth** of what he'd missed in all the chaos and the extent of the pain his brother was feeling.

Connor didn't even need to see it, once he became aware of **it **through their emotional link, aware of there being something wrong, he could practically smell the blood on Murphy even from the few meters distance between them.

And then, with their subconscious connection uninterrupted, abruptly he could _feel_ his twin's pain, it became tangible, it became real and his heart was hammering in his chest as he turned around to look at Murphy. The shaking started in his fingertips as he looked at Murphy where his sibling half slipped on the dirty old carpeted floor before he managed to sit on the foot edge of the bed with a restrained sound of pain, his jaw tense from clenching teeth and his hand going to clutch his side.

The side that had been hidden from Connor's view in all the hours they'd been driving.

Connor felt like he couldn't breathe, feeling his own panic and even Murphy's labored breaths squeeze inside his own chest. Suddenly his sibling's weak posture, sweaty pale skin, his increasing involuntary twitches, increased swallowing and barely open eyes were so obvious.

Connor felt sick…with fear.

He felt his heart squeeze and thud sorely in his chest as he rushed to Murphy, landing heavily on his knees in front of his darker haired twin,

"Murph, Murphy…fuck, oh fu… yer' shot, why, Christ, why the fuck didn't yeh' say somethin'! Shit…" his voice pitched and rasped, his mind racing along with his heart as his hands alternately squeezed Murphy's knee and hovered over his twin's hand clutching his own wound. Murphy focused on him slowly with red rimmed, sharp, austere blue eyes and he exhaled shakily through his nose,

"S'not hurting much, C-Conn…" he said weakly and swallowed, his lips were pale and dry before he slipped his tongue along the inner seam absently as he so often did, "…don't look so fuc…kin'…worried…".

Connor shook his head in disbelief and looked at his twin's hand where it was pressed to his right-middle side, his skin was stained and wet with thick blood, squelching between Murphy's twitching fingers and Connor's breath stopped, stuttered painfully, his chest hurting and hands trembling violently by now.

A dreadful cold shock ran through Connor at the sight of all that blood, the blood of his brother, the only fucking person he truly needed in his life…the severity and reality sunk in like a fucking knife…worse even because _fuck_…

**Jesus**…**Christ**…**God **in heaven…he **couldn't** lose Murphy. It wasn't just a typical family endearment or a statement said out of desperate love in a desperate moment, or fear of loss and panicked impulse. It was a fact, a truth, an indisputable inevitability that if his twin died…he would **not** continue to live.

Men of God though they were, the MacManus twins had sinned before, _with_ and _for_ each other and Connor would take his own life to follow Murphy out of the living world, that was if the pain of the loss itself didn't kill him.

It already felt like he was asphyxiating just watching Murphy's life blood slip out between his pale fingers.

"Murphy…Murphy…" he was mumbling and whispering Murphy's name over and over as he reached for the hand pressed to the wound, Murphy's jumpsuit was dark in color but the blood darkened it further and the smell was heady and sickeningly familiar except now…it was Murphy's blood and Connor could feel his brother's waning strength and consciousness as if it was physically happening to him.

Jesus, it practically was.

It struck him then that the faintness of Murphy across their link all along had been because he was in and out of consciousness and Connor could have killed himself right there and then, he'd eat a fucking bullet, for the fact that he hadn't realized.

And he was crying, silent tears he hadn't been aware of were wetting his eyes.

Murphy had been shot before, but never in an area with vital organs, never an area where Connor couldn't disinfect it with alcohol, pull the bullet out of muscle and flesh and then cauterize the wound to fix his brother with only a scar to add to the growing collection as reminder he'd ever been injured…this wound was different, it was in Murphy's abdomen and it had a high likeliness of being _fatal._

There was too much shit going on in the human abdomen and Connor was no fucking doctor or surgeon.

He cursed under his breath as his panic raced and his blood pumped so fast his hearing sounded like a rush of static for a few seconds, so he closed his eyes as his hand slid over Murphy's clutching his wound, smearing his sibling's _warm_ blood under his palm and he told himself to breathe, get a grip and **look** at the damage.

He had to breathe, because Murphy was **still** breathing.

Connor inhaled and exhaled loudly as he re-opened his eyes, he was sweating, but it was cold and he imagined he was probably pale as he stared first at their layered hands pressed to Murphy's wound and then up to look at his twin. Murphy was watching him through nearly closed eyes, a frown on his face,

"Yeh' ok?" he asked quietly and Connor laughed bitterly as his eyes burned with tears, they didn't always leave his eyes, he'd never been a wet crier, but his throat was closing, his body shaking and his eyes were wet enough right then that it was going to happen,

"The fuck are yeh' askin' me if I'm ok fer, yeh' fuckin' idjit…" his voice continued to pitch and his chest ached as Murphy licked his lips again and cracked a pained smile,

"Yer' a fuckin' idjit…" he breathed out and then groaned as quietly as possible and Connor looked straight into Murphy's pained face as he wracked his brain for what he'd learned, _anything_, over their years of being fugitives and treating their own wounds.

He couldn't think of anything helpful but he needed to do _something_.

"Alright, shut et'…lie down an' lemme look at yeh'…" Connor sniffed and blinked, swallowed and steadied his voice for his brother, to reassure him with his tone that they could tend to this wound and trust in their own ability to survive if it was not God's will for them to live.

And it hurt to think that last part, because after Murphy, God was Connor's second greatest need…but maybe that was exactly the problem, **after** Murphy. And perhaps that was it, perhaps God had abandoned them because while they served Him, they did not put Him first.

But hadn't He made it that way? Wasn't it all His design for them to be the way they were?

Too many useless questions with answers that wouldn't help Murphy stop bleeding or breathe easier.

Especially the question of whether it was God's plan for Murphy to die that night.

Connor's only answer was **no**.

Murphy shifted to lie down slowly as Connor got to his feet, Murphy first resting on his elbow before he made a sound of pain and collapsed onto his back a bit too suddenly, breathing heavily, teeth bared and jaw tense as his nostrils flared. Connor mumbled his brother's name in an unsteady tone as he pressed his hands into the mattress either side of his darker haired twin and stepped around Murphy's legs where they were splayed off the bed so he could sit beside him, Connor's movements were jerky and hurried.

Connor swallowed thickly again, exhaled shakily, and barely managed an inhale around a sob to get air into his lungs, his chest felt so tight. He settled on his knees on the bed beside Murphy before he lifted his hands and started to shakily peel Murphy's blood sticky fingers away from the wound.

Murphy pressed his head back into the mattress in pain as his cold, rigid fingers came away and his breath hitched on a groan of pain. His dark short hair was sweated to his forehead and the slightly longer hair at the sides of his face were curling at his ears gently in the way Connor had always thought should look out of place on a guy but never found it to on Murphy.

Murphy, with his features so fine and attractive, his hair such a rich dark brown, appearing almost black when wet or damp and so pin straight that the moisture only just caused it to kink at his ears, his skin was so pale and unblemished save for the mole on his face and the freckles on his shoulders, his eyes so, **so** blue…

…the only thing Connor had in common with his twin mind you, were those intense blue eyes.

Connor felt his lips shaking along with the rest of his body as he removed Murphy's hand and the blood previously seeping through his sibling's fingers pulsed warm and free, slow and thick, from the bullet wound.

Murphy's blood…

His first instinct and reaction was to press his own hand to the wound as Murphy had been doing, making his twin wince. He knew, but really didn't, that he needed to stem the blood flow…but there was too much doubt and ignorance about the wound, not enough knowledge and deep down, in his gut, inside his aching chest, in the part of his mind seizing with panic and shock and fear, he knew that there was **no** stopping whatever damage had been done to his brother's insides with that fucking bullet.

Not without a hospital, not without a surgeon...

Murphy's body jerked unexpectedly, a harsh twitch, as he coughed involuntarily and blood oozed faster out of his wound, between Connor's fingers…warm wetness against his palm, over the frayed material of Murphy's clothes and damaged flesh where an exposed, _fatal_ bullet wound was.

"Murphy…" Connor said in a harsh whisper that barely came out as he kept his hand pressed to the wound, even as he straightened up so he was half kneeling and lying beside Murphy on the bed.

"…onn…Con-ner…" Murphy had been trying to speak when he coughed.

Connor stared into Murphy's face, swallowed thickly, felt his eyes water even more as he held his sibling's gaze.

"Murph?" he rasped out. Sniffed.

He was acutely aware of Murphy's wet, cold hand sliding over his where it was pressed to Murphy's firm abdomen, not firm because of Murphy's musculature…no…this was a bad firm…

It was a sign of internal bleeding, abdominal trauma.

Connor was no doctor, but he knew shit.

He could feel cold seeping into his body more and more, as cold as Murphy's skin was despite the warm, stuttering of his breath against Connor's face, mixing in with his own breaths. Murphy's was shallow but erratic and fast, his pupils had been dilated but were slowly constricting now, even as he clung to consciousness and focus and the clammy paleness of his sweaty, cold skin was a clear indication that he was in a bad way.

Of course he was…he was dying…

**Fuck.**

Connor had stopped breathing and he only realized belatedly, brought back from his panicked wide eyed stare by Murphy's hand sliding around, under his own, sticky cold fingers interlocking with Connor's, disregarding the bleeding wound.

They both knew. There was no saving Murphy.

Connor wondered if Murphy knew there would be no saving himself either.

Whatever Murphy had wanted to say got lost in another cough, his eyes squeezing shut, teeth baring at the pain and the wet sound of the cough came as second notice for Connor when compared to the sight of blood thickly lining Murphy's white teeth and the inside of his lips.

It had been _hours _of internal bleeding…the evidence of it now slipping along the inner seam of Murphy's mouth as he licked his sheet white lips on a ragged breath and swallowed his own blood with a grimace, blue eyes opening again to look at Connor.

A look of resignation, acceptance and love in his eyes.

Hurt could not describe the intense feeling of pain Connor experienced at the very _idea_ of losing Murphy…so right then, when **nothing** but a miracle from God could save his brother, the pain shook his insides violently.

Connor felt ice cold, felt he couldn't take a breath and yet he was hyperventilating, sobbing out the sound of Murphy's name, squeezing Murphy's hand as he knelt beside his dying, bleeding, hurting, _beautiful,_ beloved brother…and then his other hand was suddenly on Murphy's cold, sweat clammy cheek, cupping, caressing, sliding over his ear, into his damp, soft hair.

Murphy was focusing on breathing, no words, just his gaze, it was the only thing beside the shared pain that gave Connor any indication that Murphy was still there with him and wasn't slipping into oblivion yet.

In that moment, neither Heaven nor Hell came to Connor's mind, he didn't think of God, didn't think of his rosary or Murphy's, he didn't think of praying, he didn't think of anything except how much he wished he was the one that lay dying instead of Murphy.

Said twin convulsed slightly, more blood seeped from his mouth, a thin slip of the red liquid made its way out of the corner of Murphy's mouth. More blood seeped from his wound as well, soaking Connor's fallen white sleeve and Murphy's clothes. Murphy's grip on his hand was slackening and he was taking labored breaths, his eyes seemed wet and **too** blue in the low light.

"Co…nne…" Murphy tried for his name again but he couldn't make it and Connor didn't want him to try.

With a burn in his throat, pounding pain behind his eyes and the heaviest weight in his stomach, Connor shushed Murphy gently and pressed their foreheads together. Murphy's grip had slackened to the point where Connor had been the only one keeping their fingers interlocked, but he let go then to cup both sides of Murphy's face.

Connor breathed into Murphy's open mouth in heavy panicked huffs while his twin barely managed to inhale and exhale. Connor knew it would be soon, he knew Murphy would fade soon and when he did, when his last breath had passed over Connor's face, then he would take out his gun and use it to join Murphy.

As it should be. As he would have it, he and Murphy. Even if it was not God's will for them to **both** die that day.

"Murphy…is breá liom tú…" Connor said around a sob, "…beidh mé leat, beidh mé a leanann tú i bás…" (I love you, I will be with you, I will follow you…) he felt himself shaking worse and worse as Murphy stilled more and more.

But his eyes…his eyes held focus as if Murphy was putting all his remaining life into it, their eyes held contact up close, inches apart, forehead to forehead and Connor could smell the blood in Murphy's mouth. He could smell death on his brother and it made him sick and scared and hateful and vengeful and Jesus fucking Christ, why Murphy!?

It wasn't right…

"…aon áit Murphy, neamh nó ifreann, ní bheidh mé a bheith scartha ó tú." (…anywhere, heaven or hell, I will not be separated from you.) He breathed out and pressed his lips to the corner of Murphy's mouth, smearing the line of blood there against his mouth just as he'd done with his blood stained hand along the side of Murphy's face and neck.

There was a shared breath and then Connor felt Murphy's weak hand touch the forearm of his bloody hand and clutch lightly, so lightly, so weakly…so much blood everywhere but inside of Murphy's body where it** should** be…

…it fucking hurt.

What happened in that next moment made no sense to Connor, it wasn't something he'd done before, wasn't something he'd ever let himself think about even when he was at his most drunk, but that weak clutching hand and the copper tang of Murphy's blood on his lips as he pursed his own, made him exhale Murphy's name before he delicately, hesitantly, slipped his tongue along the inner seam of Murphy's blood wet lips.

He didn't want to taste the blood, no…this bizarre urge came from somewhere else, somewhere subconscious, somewhere in his mind where he put away all things considered to be the most sick and ill of all sins against God.

But right then, with no God between them, with just him and Murphy, Connor dipped his tongue into Murphy's mouth and let it brush against his twin's in a caress that sent misplaced pleasure and untold grief of loss through his body, so deep and so harsh that it hurt and he sobbed into Murphy's unresponsive mouth as tears left his eyes.

Murphy didn't kiss back, if he could, he didn't, if he didn't want to, Connor wouldn't live to regret taking this from his dying sibling. And if Murphy was just so weak that he couldn't, Connor wouldn't live to wonder if he would have kissed back.

It was only for a few seconds, a short –fucking painfully empty- kiss, there were more sobs between their mouths from Connor than anything else and then the hand on his forearm slipped, fell away…landed **limp** on the bed cover.

Then there were no breaths from Murphy, only his own and Connor's harsh breathing morphed into ragged, pained sobs and audible crying as he dragged his face to the side of Murphy's neck where there was no pulse, just cold skin. He buried his trembling hands in Murphy's hair and he let out his inner pain, he wept bitterly. His legs were weak then, they slipped out from underneath him so he laid half on top and half next to Murphy's body.

He whispered Murphy's name over and over, at first softly, wetly against his blood stained neck and then slowly louder, broken consonants and vowels and syllables, sounds lost to the rasping, choking of his crying.

His hands shook worse as they unclenched from Murphy's hair and ran down the sides of his cold sibling's face…

And then he shouted Murphy's name, screamed it once, loud, pained and desperate.

Because Murphy's unmoving body was pressed to his own, dead, lifeless and it was final.

God,** God, how it hurt.**

Connor couldn't scream again, his throat was too closed off and his mind burned with thoughts and apologies and needs and wants and questions, things unsaid, things wrongly said, Murphy's open, dead eyes, his blood stained mouth, his voice…his voice saying Connor's name, his voice in prayer…

…prayer.

Connor's mind was swarmed with prayers, the moment of Godlessness he'd experienced was gone now that he was truly _alone_. After a short, pained breath, Connor found himself mumbling against Murphy's cold white lips as he got up onto his knees, straddled Murphy's body and reached under the back of his shirt, into the back of his folded down prison jumpsuit and with a shaking hand he brought his gun around,

"Incline, O Lord, Thine ear te' our prayers…" the words came out in a pitchy quiver as Connor pressed his forehead to Murphy's again, "…in which we humbly beseech Thy mercy, that Thou wouldst place the soul of Thy s-servant," he sniffed as he disarmed the safety, clenching his jaw before pressing the cold steel of the unsilenced firearm in as steady a grip as he could at such an odd angle, to his own chest, to where his heart thudded painfully.

Connor held the gun to his chest, balancing his weight on his knees and his forehead to Murphy's as he positioned his thumb in the trigger guard and the fingers of his other hand clicked the hammer back to arm the gun. Connor swallowed thickly, sniffed again, opened and closed his eyes, having a hard time looking, at the same time as not looking at Murphy's peaceful face and open blue eyes,

"Which Thou hast caused te' depart from this world," he couldn't keep bitterness from his voice when he said that and he inhaled long and shakily after, smelling blood and Murphy's cold sweat, "…into the region of peace an' light…an' unite in the fellowship of Thy Saints." He choked back a sob.

Connor couldn't hear anything but his own voice and dull ringing in his ears, couldn't smell anything but Murphy, couldn't think anything but of the hollowness deep inside his chest, where once the awareness of Murphy's own heartbeat and consciousness had filled and fit and belonged.

They were one, they always had been, and even their subconscious link had always been a real tangible thing, more pronounced in the few times they had been separated and so the hollow, dark feeling swelling inside Connor's chest told of just how deeply Murphy's death reached into his soul.

It was blasphemous to think it, but he truly belonged to his brother, his life did, or rather it had, and he would give it right then, because he could not _live_ without Murphy.

With a deep resignation and one final –sinful- stolen kiss to Murphy's cold white lips, Connor closed his eyes,

"Trí Chríost ár dTiarna…" (Through Christ our Lord) he finished the prayer in Irish, with a sorrow in his tone so deep the words hurt as they crawled from his throat before he tightened his hold on the gun, pressing his thumb to the trigger when he breathed out, "Amen..."

The click back of the trigger was drowned out by the sound of the gun shot, but it did not drown out the sound of Murphy's voice rasping out his name as pain shot through Connor like a thousand hot pokers.

* * *

><p><em>Leave it, if it's nothing to you.<em>

_And if you hate me, then hate me so good..._

_..that you can let me out of this hell in your arms._


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Boondock Saints.**

**Sub Disclaimer: I do not own Damien Rice's music and lyrics.**

**NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly. **

**Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale**

**Pairing: Twincest (Connor/Murphy)**

**Movie Verse:** **First Movie; Pre Canon - Canon / Canon Deviation**

**Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Connor and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.**

**Sub Note: Bold/Italics are direct past tense.**

**- Please read end note for asterisk (*) explanation**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

* * *

><p><em>When you think you've sinned...<em>

_...do you fall upon your knees?_

* * *

><p>Connor wasn't expecting to open his eyes, or for the pain from a gunshot to his chest to be felt in his face but true enough the right side of his face stung and throbbed as if he'd been slapped or hit…<p>

…and dear fucking God, his breath hitched in shock when his blue eyes landed on the face hovering above him.

Murphy.

He parted his lips, his mouth felt so dry, to say something but Murphy's raspy voice beat him to it,

"...the fuck are yeh' doin'!?" he sounded annoyed and groggy.

Connor tried to understand what was happening so he hesitantly trailed his eyes away from his pale twin's sleepy visage and looked around the small shitty loft they resided in.

He became aware of the fact that he was in nothing but his boxers, laying on the thin mattress he always slept on, the loft looked lit by very early morning light, still mostly dark and shadowed. He could hear the usual drip of the sink and the shower and he could smell the staleness of the damp, dilapidated loft.

His fingers twitched where his hands rested numb along his sides and he swallowed thickly right when Murphy grabbed his face with a _warm _–alive- hand and forced his face to him so their eyes could meet again,

"Connor?" he sounded genuinely concerned, a lot of questions and a need to know the problem being conveyed in that one word, so sweetly highlighted in Murphy's sleepy voice and light accent.

Ma had always said Murphy lacked a real Irish brogue because he wasn't a wordy little shit like Connor had been as a child, he'd barely spoken as a kid, only when was necessary, or to Connor when they were alone.

But Murphy had grown up since and he spoke a lot more as an adult, a lot more openly, and despite his accent being less pronounced than Connor's, he was unmistakably Irish. Also, Connor knew, the only time Murphy's Irish accent truly showed through was when he was drunk or pissed off.

Connor couldn't blame him for that, alcohol and violence brought out the Irish in them.

He was smiling without realizing it as he stared up at Murphy and it sunk in that he'd just been having a fucking horrible dream…or nightmare he supposed.

Murphy didn't seem to appreciate the dazed smile, he made a face like he usually did when he was annoyed, shook his head and cuffed a hand through his short dark hair, making it stand up in odd places.

But it would eventually go down, it always did. Straight and soft and not as defiant as Connor's own lighter, thicker hair.

Connor was unprepared for Murphy shifting from his knees with a heavy sigh and moving to lie down on the narrow mattresses beside him with a dull thud and huff. But he shifted over as was expected of him, their shoulders were pressed together at the angle Murphy was lying, their arms and the backs of their hands touching, both shirtless, in their underwear, arms skin to skin.

Connor had never paid a thought to such a thing, so he wondered why he noticed those details right then. He wanted to wrack his sleep slowed brain but Murphy spoke again, quieter, not angry, almost sad rather,

"Who're yeh' prayin' fer?" he asked.

Connor turned his head to look at Murphy at the question, they were lying so close that he could smell the cheap soap they showered with in Murphy's hair and on his skin, another strange thing he'd always known would be there but had never distinctly bothered to note. He was also struck with notice of his sibling's side profile, Murphy had always been the 'prettier' boy out of the two of them and Connor saw it clearly right then.

His fairer skinned twin, the less rough looking twin, the twin of marginally slighter build and height, the quieter twin…that was Murphy.

Although interestingly enough in contrast…Murphy was more hotheaded and quick to anger than Connor ever was.

"Connor…" Murphy turned his gaze which had been on their moldy, cracked ceiling so he was looking into Connor's face, inches away, his breath tainted with alcohol and sleep and his eyes as crystalline and intense as ever,

"What?" Connor frowned slightly, feeling some strange, pleasant, but very, **very** misplaced sensation stir in his mind and body as his eyes looked over Murphy's face and he blinked rapidly.

God…that feeling was just **wrong**.

'_What the fuck…?'_ he thought with panic and his hands twitched to cross himself as a prayer of contrition flashed through his mind.

"I asked who yeh' were prayin' fer'?" Murphy repeated with a sigh and a frown as he stared into Connor's face, probably trying to determine what might be bothering Connor.

"Prayin'…" Connor mumbled, rummaging through his mind to place the reason for the question.

"Yea' Connor, Jesus," Murphy shifted so he was partially on his side, leaning up on his elbow, looking down at Connor again, "Were yeh' drinkin' while I was asleep?" he sounded annoyed again, one of his eyes nearly closed as he squinted at Connor through the low light, "In yer' sleep, you' were prayin' fer' the dead, fer' someone who died, who was et'?"

Connor's dream/nightmare rushed back to the forefront of his mind, Murphy's pain, his blood, his cold skin, his sweated hair, his focused eyes, his pale lips, his…

'_Oh __**shit**__…'_ Connor's heart palpitated as he remembered _kissing_ Murphy in his dream and his eyes widened. Murphy was so close right then, almost as close as he'd been in the dream and that **wrong** feeling –so pleasant, intimate, warm in all the wrong places- made Connor feel like he needed his space.

Immediately.

Connor sat up suddenly to the opposite side the mattress, swinging his legs off the side and bending them up so he could cradle his head in his hands with his elbows on his knees, his back to Murphy, to the feelings that the sight of his twin was evoking in him.

Foreign, wrong…wrong…

He was rubbing his hands roughly through his hair, shoulders tense when he felt and heard Murphy shifting behind him. Connor realized his twin was probably expecting an answer to his question,

"…I don't remember…" he lied, "…whatever I was dreamin' about, I don't remember, Murph." He said in his best 'it's not important' tone of voice.

There was a 'hmph' from Murphy,

"That right?" Murphy sounded tense, "Yer' fuckin' lying, Connor." He sighed, "Whatever, don't tell me." He shifted again, there was some more shuffling and Connor assumed Murphy was lying down on his own mattress again.

Connor sighed into the silence, sniffed and left his hands in his hair as he stared at the dirty floor. He didn't want to talk about his dream, but not because Murphy had died in his dream, although that was fucking horrible, it wasn't the first time he'd dreamed it. As a twin, the fear of losing Murphy would always plague him, from as early as childhood. Murphy had also expressed having had similar fears and nightmares growing up, even if it happened rarely in adulthood, it wasn't unheard of between them.

For a moment Connor tried to, but he honestly couldn't remember many other details of the nightmare funnily enough, aside from the _kiss_ and the odd circumstances; they'd broken out of prison. But why had they been in prison?

That question was still overshadowed by the most disturbing thing…the urge, the need that had felt so incredibly real in the dream/nightmare, to _kiss_ Murphy, his own **brother**. And not an innocent, platonic kiss of affection…no, the need had been to taste Murphy, to slip his tongue past those parted lips whilst they expelled hitched breaths…

'_Fuck…'_ Connor clutched his hair, shutting his eyes tightly as that **wrong** feeling whirled through his body again.

God help him, it felt like arousal…_sexual_ arousal.

Connor couldn't even begin to fathom where such a feeling was coming from, he'd **never** had such an impure thought or feeling toward Murphy in their 26 years of life. Murphy was his **brother** for Christ's sake.

Sure, their brotherhood was unusually close and they had a certain kind of co-dependence where they _could_ function separately but chose not to, chose to be at each other's side as much as was humanly possible. They _chose_ to have no boundaries between them, they chose to live together and they'd chosen a life of abstinence…of *****celibacy.

Connor swallowed slowly and licked his lips, thinking over that last point with a deep frown.

Their celibacy had been a personal choice; it hadn't had much to do with faith so much as being something they wanted. Something they'd both decided they wanted at 19 years of age, a year before they'd left Ireland for America. They'd had their necessary experiences as teens and adolescents; they'd kissed girls and then later they'd been _with_ girls and had told each other every detail of it, allowing the other to understand just what it had been like. But they had been raised on family and Catholicism, not in the stoic, regimented sense where there was no room for mistakes or mischief as young boys, but devout to the point where missing mass was never an option because they _wanted_ to attend and God was an integral part of their daily lives.

The only thing that had ever been more important to Connor, and Murphy too, had been each other. They never said it, never felt it was necessary to, but they knew it was a fact. God had given them brotherhood, a twin, as what felt like a gift to them, and they valued it as devoutly as they did their religion and beliefs.

And most everything they had done in their lives since they'd first understood what family was, had been based on natural, mutual thoughts and feelings between them.

The idea to become celibate had come up one night when they'd been out with a friend of theirs back in Ireland, he had been telling them about a pretty, red haired conquest of his over beer and smokes in a pub they frequented. Later, when their friend had left for the night and it had just been himself and Murphy, Connor stealing the last of Murphy's lukewarm beer because his sibling had been distracted, said twin had looked at him with one of those intense looks that Murphy did so well and Connor had raised an eyebrow in question.

He'd known something serious was on his sibling's mind and he'd given him his full attention.

Murphy had asked Connor if he ever saw himself getting married, having children? He'd maintained eye contact, giving away his own answer to that question with the weight of his gaze and the negative tone of his voice. Connor hadn't answered right away, he'd thought about it as he smoked half of a new cigarette before he came to a conclusion, shaking his head as he answered truthfully, that no, he wasn't able to see that in his future and he had no desire for it.

Murphy had nodded, saying 'myself' in a mumble before they'd lapsed into silence for another few minutes, enjoying the din of the pub. Then Connor had smirked, finished off his cigarette as Murphy lit a new one, and he'd said around an exhale of smoke,

**_"_****_What are we te' do about et' then, Murph?"_**

Murphy's next words had been vague, to anyone besides Connor, they wouldn't have made as much sense, but Connor understood. He'd watched Murphy rub his fingers over his mouth, cigarette poised between those same fingers before he'd exhaled smoke through his nose,

**_"_****_Maybe we don't do anythin'…maybe, we don't need te' do anythin'." _**He'd licked his lips and said quietly,**_ "Maybe…we don't want anythin'."_**

It had been a bold thing to assume on Connor's behalf, but Murphy _knew_ that generally when one of them felt something, it usually turned out to be a mutual feeling.

And when Murphy said it, Connor had let the idea wash over him. Asked himself... **_did he really need physical attachments with women, did he want it? There would never be emotional commitments, so was sex really so great that he couldn't live without it? It wasn't as if he sought it out, as it was he didn't even jump on every opportunity that presented itself, it really wasn't a thing he thought about often or that he craved._**

It had also factored in that his religion prohibited the sex he'd had out of wedlock and didn't approve of self-gratification, but more importantly the idea of spending his days with his brother without any other interferences just held so much more appeal and comfort, that he'd found himself in complete agreement and he'd nodded,

**_"_****_Aye." Connor said quietly and he watched as Murphy's eyes reflected his contentment with that answer before a smile reached his lips. _**

_'__Am I just horny?' _he asked himself presently as he listened to the telling click of Murphy's lighter as he lit up his morning cigarette.

Connor didn't ever feel horny per say, Murphy had definitely been right all those years ago when he'd guessed that neither of them really _wanted_ sex and attachments, because giving it up had come far more easily than he'd thought it could, neither of them had felt a loss for what they'd given up, not even the lack of masturbation bothered them.

But even as Connor was trying to rationalize the new thoughts and feelings, a strangely vivid memory of Murphy masturbating in the shower flashed in his mind. It had happened only once many years ago when they'd been 16 and Connor had walked into their shared bathroom unannounced. Murphy's back had been to him and he hadn't closed the shower curtain, they rarely did because they never saw a reason for that sort of privacy from one another. Connor hadn't had much of a reaction to seeing that back then, except to snicker at his twin before Murphy cursed at him and pulled the shower curtain shut properly.

But right then, details that Connor had never known he'd memorized were surfacing, an image of the length of Murphy's naked back, his buttocks, his legs...the sheen of water on his skin and the hurried movements of his one hand as he'd leaned against the wall with his other where he stood in the tub .

"Fuck…" Connor breathed out, stressed and worried and confused over the strange feelings as he stood up quickly and walked around the mattresses toward the toilet, not looking at Murphy as he did so. But out of his peripheral, he was aware of the hunched over shape of his twin, sitting on his bed, arms around bent up legs, watching him, smoking, thinking.

Connor made a point of not looking over even as he felt Murphy's eyes on him while he relieved himself, the lack of walls or partitions of any kind in their run down but chosen living space was suddenly making him feel awkward and self-conscious where it never had before.

He was just finishing up when Murphy shifted and he chanced a glance to find Murphy was shaking his head and walking over to the couch, where he picked up his worn blue denim jeans so he could get dressed for the day at work.

Connor hadn't missed the upset look on Murphy's face or the tense line of his shoulders and he knew it was going to be a long, bad day, whenever he and Murphy were tense with each other, the day would always be really fucked up.

* * *

><p>It was still chilly in Boston as winter made its way out that mid-February and standing outside the meat packing factory with a smoke suspended between his lips wasn't as pleasant or relaxing as Connor had hoped it would be, especially wearing only his thin white work coat over his work issued body warmer and his T-shirt. Connor was inhaling from his cigarette in quick, deep pulls, fingers poised near his mouth to remove and replace the smoke in between exhales as he hurried his smoke break along so he could go back inside.<p>

It wasn't much different inside, but at least the cold wind wouldn't be present.

Then again, the cold bite of Murphy's upset silence and none too discreet glaring was inside.

Being outside seemed favorable when Connor took that into consideration.

They hadn't talked again all morning, Murphy had kept glancing at him on the way to morning mass and then had not even looked at him or acknowledged his presence the entire distance to work and since being at work, he'd been giving Connor all manner of displeased looks throughout the day.

Connor just **knew** there'd be an argument or physical fight between them before the day was out if things continued this way.

Murphy hated secrets about as much as Connor did when it came to what was shared between them, they usually kept nothing from one another, so when one of them tried to, it caused a lot of tension which eventually boiled over into violence.

They were men after all…and Irish…so…

Connor licked his lips after he finished his cigarette, holding the butt between his fingers as he frowned about his predicament. He glanced to his side when someone stepped up beside him, he'd been so distracted by his thoughts he hadn't heard anyone step through the PVC strips behind him.

He raised his eyebrows when he met his twin's blue eyes, Murphy held his gaze for a few seconds as he searched his white, stained work coat pockets for his cigarette pack and lighter, an identical brand and lighter as Connor's own. He finally relieved Connor of that stare when he tapped a cigarette into his hand, re-pocketed his smokes and lit up with a hand shielding the flame from the wind.

And Connor found himself absently staring at Murphy's hair and eyes and hands and the way his cheeks hollowed slightly as he inhaled, the way he carefully pinched the cigarette between his index and middle fingers as he fiddled with his lighter, licking his lips just inside the seam, allowing smoke to stream from his nose slowly as he glanced around the loading bay.

Fuck…

Connor felt the disturbing warmth creep up on him again as he took note of _all_ the physical nuances he knew of his brother but was just recently starting to look at differently…in such a wrong way that it made him want to scream. He was tempted to reach for his rosary under his shirt and whisper an act of contrition and a few other prayers for strength and forgiveness, but Murphy would notice and that action following the fact that Murphy had just caught him staring, would be offensive and suspicious to his twin.

Murphy wouldn't, he **couldn't** understand, not when Connor didn't even understand himself.

Murphy could **not** know. Never.

He swallowed tensely as he averted his gaze as casually as possible from Murphy, trying not to draw attention to his unease, but he and Murphy shared feelings, sometimes from more than just reading each other emotionally, sometimes it was physical, so that one twin might experience what the other was actually feeling.

Had it not always been such a welcomed connection, Connor thought it would have been tiresome having to experience the occasional headache whenever Murphy had one, or to know that if he was having trouble sleeping, Murphy would be too.

It made him wonder about the night before and whether Murphy had any idea of what he'd been feeling, thinking and dreaming about.

One of the much rarer things they shared were dreams.

When it did, it happened unexpectedly and months to more often years a part, that they'd dream something similar and less than a handful of times in their 26 years, completely identical. They considered it a gift, because it was. To be so connected, so close to someone that you were never alone, not in spirit, not in soul or mind, even if you were physically separate.

But right then, Connor feared it.

He didn't know if Murphy had felt anything _weird_ about his dream the night before, but Murphy did at least seem to not know anything about the disturbing sexual feelings Connor was suffering, God help him.

"So…how did I die?" Murphy's voice was low and light in tone, as it usually was, smooth and calm and quiet and so serious when he wasn't smiling and wasn't happy.

"What?" Connor turned to look at him, blinked once and then busied himself with flicking his forgotten cigarette butt onto the ground of the loading bay beneath them.

"In the dream…the one that's fuckin' yeh' up so bad, Connor, how did I die?" Murphy clarified before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Connor glanced away and then at Murphy again as he fidgeted tensely, fists clenching and unclenching. He should have expected this question, of course Murphy would figure out who he'd been dreaming about, if he hadn't already suspected since early that morning and had just kept quiet about it.

Connor wondered if the dreams they had about either one of them dying ever bothered Murphy.

The thought was fleeting though because Murphy was staring at him with that familiar annoyed hike in his eyebrow, eyes threatening physical violence if Connor didn't spill. Connor had never before dreaded the idea of contact with Murphy, but right then, even with Murphy smelling like raw meat, sweat and cigarette smoke, the thought of any kind of physical closeness made him feel terribly uncomfortable and warm.

Jesus fucking Christ, Connor felt sick, sick with himself and with worry.

"Connor, wh-…" Murphy sounded borderline pissed and concerned when he started his sentence. Connor wondered if he'd visibly paled because he felt both hot and cold and sweaty all of a sudden, but he thanked God for the interruption by one of their colleagues, which cut Murphy off, when the guy leaned through the PVC and called on Connor to help out with something.

Connor felt a bit sorry for the man because of the glare Murphy threw at the unintentional interruption, but he was far too grateful for it. So he gave Murphy a shrug and casual tip of his head toward the man, something that would only piss Murphy off more due to the lack of spoken words where Connor always usually had a thing to say about everything, and then he walked away from his twin.

And he could **feel** Murphy's irritation in the form of a buzzing in his ears and Murphy's sadness and worry in the form of a sudden new cold weight in his stomach.

* * *

><p>McGinty's wasn't busy that night, it was a Tuesday and a lot of the people who usually came down to the bar on a Friday or at the weekends had families, two jobs or odd shifts so they didn't make it to the bar in the middle of the week and those who could be, were there, already drinking, just as Connor and Murphy had the intention to.<p>

Although the twins usually tried to keep their visits to McGinty's to the weekends as well, for the sake of their finances, sometimes it was just necessary to have a drink, like right then.

They approached the bar, greeting who they knew as they passed and with natural synchronicity, they removed their matching black pea coats when they reached the bar and handed them over to Doc, who was standing and watching them with his usual worried/confused/pissed off expression from behind the bar,

"Evenin', Doc." Connor said as pleasantly as he could, trying to ignore the waves of unsettle and anger radiating off of Murphy.

"Doc." He heard Murphy say just a second after him as he pulled himself up onto a stool at the mostly empty bar.

There was a pause where Doc nodded and drew the word up from his inconsistent and sporadic vocabulary,

"B-boy's." the word came out shaky but understandable as he deposited their coats in their usual place near the back corner of the bar before he set about getting them their usual starter drinks.

Connor settled on a stool beside Murphy, pushing up the sleeves of his dark grey sweater and adjusting the beads of his rosary on the back of his neck absently. The press of the cross beneath his shirt was a comfort and yet constant reminder of his recent sins of the mind, sins which he'd probably never reveal, not even in confession. Murphy had on a near identical sweater, except that it was a dark navy blue, worn with a pair of light blue jeans both he and Connor favored and had a few well-worn pairs of. And the beads of Murphy's similar rosary were visible on his pale neck, dark red/brown wood against pale, smooth skin.

Connor caught himself staring again, his gaze averted only when Doc placed two shots of Bushmills down in front of them.

Sin…every thought Connor had about Murphy in the last twenty four hours had been a horrible sin.

He nodded his thanks and lifted the shot glass, Murphy was a few seconds ahead and he drained his first shot followed shortly by Connor, neither of them looking at one another as they placed the small glasses back down just as Doc placed two pints of Guinness down.

The dark beer looked so good Connor felt himself salivate as he picked it up and raised it slightly to Doc before sipping from it. He chanced a glance at Murphy, who didn't reach for his beer and instead pulled out his cigarettes and lighter,

"Another shot please, Doc…" Murphy half mumbled, only just audibly as he looked at Doc while tapping a cigarette out of his crumpled pack.

Connor made a point to look away before his eyes could linger on his twin's lips when Murphy placed the cigarette between them, the fact he'd noticed the moisture of whiskey clinging to Murphy's lips was awful enough without wondering about the texture and taste of them mixed with a cigarette.

Fuck. Connor tipped his head back as he gulped down more than half of his beer and then paused to gesture for another shot before he finished the pint off. Murphy was giving him a sidelong look as he dropped his lighter on the bar top, inhaling from the now lit cigarette, his eyes squinted and the cherry of his cigarette burning bright for a few seconds.

"Y-yeh' boy's lookin' te', te' get druh- druh…FUCK…" Connor licked beer from his lips and regarded Doc with fond amusement as did Murphy, waiting for the man to finish his sentence, "…-p-pissed?" he finished as he poured two more shots.

"Maybe Connor is…not meh'…" Murphy gave Connor an unimpressed look as he picked up his shot and the liquid slipped away into his mouth. The line of his throat and his bobbing adam's apple distracted Connor for a second before he snorted and tried to shrug off the comment, tried to hide his personal discomfort,

"S'pose I'll see how the night goes." He commented, fully aware that his comment was neither witty nor sarcastic and very unlike himself. The answer was also far too honest.

Connor told himself firmly, as he knocked his second shot back and ordered another beer, that getting drunk was a **bad** idea when he had a secret to keep from Murphy, a tongue loose with alcohol on top of guilt would do no good.

* * *

><p><strong>- * The idea of Connor and Murphy being celibate is a personal observation I made and conclusion I came to after watching the movies. I'm sure many people will disagree that it was likely, but I think it's plausible, even if it was not intended as such in canon. The idea is just my opinion.<strong>


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Boondock Saints.**

**Sub Disclaimer: I do not own Damien Rice's music and lyrics.**

**NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly. **

**Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale**

**Pairing: Twincest (Connor/Murphy)**

**Movie Verse:** **First Movie; Pre Canon - Canon / Canon Deviation**

**Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Connor and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.**

**Sub Note: You will notice a variation in Connor & Murphy's speech (Eg: sometimes I will write you and other times yeh' etc.) It is intentional.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two<br>**

* * *

><p><em>I know I've been a liar and I know I've been a fool...<em>

* * *

><p>As the night drew on the bar got a little fuller, there were some new faces mixed with the usual faces, as there often times were during the week and Connor found himself introduced to new men and women by the people he knew. The new comers quickly learned from the regular people around the bar that Connor and Murphy were brothers, inseparable and close, not to be messed with either.<p>

Even though they weren't on 'good' terms presently, the twins never strayed far from each other, not on that night and never a day or night prior that they could help it, especially when they were fighting. A few meters across the bar was an acceptable distance, so long as when they returned home to their run down loft they would sleep just about an arm's reach apart, a distance from which they could hear each other breath, cough, shift and…dream.

Connor was politely keeping the conversation he was having with the woman flirting with him neutral, she was a new visitor to the bar crowd who didn't know, as the usual female patrons did, that the MacManus brothers had never left McGinty's with anyone but each other and never would. No one knew that he and Murphy had an unofficial vow of celibacy between them, unofficial only because the twins never said it aloud or even actually directly spoke of it to one another, but people were aware that neither Connor nor Murphy ever accepted a woman's advances.

What people made of it, Connor hadn't a clue and he honestly didn't care.

Or at least he hadn't cared, now though, with his newly discovered abnormal feelings, he felt self-conscious of every glance and look he and Murphy exchanged whenever they searched the bar for the other with their eyes, out of habit, a need to be comforted by knowing their other half was okay.

Even if Murphy's glances were brief and upset in nature, he still looked for Connor and Connor still looked for him.

By the time it was nearing midnight and the twins both unconsciously gravitated toward the bar to retrieve their coats and leave for the night, Connor was nowhere near drunk, he'd been careful to moderate his intake after his first few drinks, and he could tell that Murphy wasn't drunk either.

They bid Doc a good night and pulled on their coats as they left the bar together, Connor just a step behind Murphy until they were out in the cold night air and were tugging their coats tightly around themselves, stuffing their hands into their pockets and falling into step beside one another.

Their shoulders touched and bumped lightly when they first started walking and Connor did his best to discreetly put some distance between them, very little, but just enough. If Murphy noticed, he didn't show it. It made Connor feel worse for how he was distorting their usual closeness and he wondered if maybe he was overreacting.

Maybe Murphy didn't notice the lingering stares, didn't notice the uncomfortable flushes to Connor's neck and ears, maybe he didn't feel or see anything misplaced and wrong in Connor's behavior and actions…maybe because Murphy wasn't looking for there to be anything like **that** wrong, anything so twisted.

Maybe that was a good thing.

Connor glanced at Murphy as they walked the familiar quiet streets back toward their small apartment building. Murphy was chewing his bottom lip, an unconscious habit his sibling had when he wanted a cigarette, but with it being chilly he supposed Murphy figured he could wait until they were out of the wind, as it were his hands were deep in his coat pockets and his shoulders were hunched, much like Connor himself.

They were two blocks from home when Murphy spoke, his tone casual and quiet,

"I've told yeh' before, Connor, yer' too much of a pussy when et' comes te' dealin' with women." He teased.

Connor huffed out a laugh, relieved that Murphy was trying to move past his anger,

"I think the word yer' lookin' fer' Murph, is a gentleman." He informed.

"Oh please," Murphy said with a touch of a grin on his face, "All yer' doin' by not just tellin' her yeh' not interested is leadin' her on, Connor, it's not that hard."

Connor found himself smirking,

"Oh, an' I s'pose yeh' think **you** could tell a girl te' just fuck off without coming off as being an arsehole..." he raised his eyebrows in question as they turned a corner, "…shame we'll never know, since as long as I'm in the room yeh' seem te' be invisible te' women." Connor teased back.

He hoped for Murphy to take the bait, to swear at him and insult him right back but instead his twin just shook his head and his smile faded, apparently Murphy wasn't ready to start getting along _that_ well.

So Connor sniffed and picked up the conversation, since he wanted to keep talking, even if they couldn't properly joke just yet,

"They all get the message eventually, Murph." He commented, since he saw no reason to blow off the girls who approached him in a rude way, unlike his sibling.

And even though he teased Murphy, Connor had –always- seen how much female attention Murphy got on busy nights at the bar, even the girls who knew there was no shot with the twins sometimes redoubled their efforts when they were drunk enough. Murphy wasn't always as rude to flirtatious women as he suggested Connor should be either, not directly anyway, but Connor had seen Murphy excuse himself from conversation with girls rather blatantly when they started flirting and sometimes after a few too many Guinness' Murphy had said the words, 'I'm not interested' to persistent women.

Where once Connor had found such a thing simply amusing, he now found the idea of women flirting with Murphy aggravating yet satisfying, aggravating for their forwardness and satisfying since he knew Murphy was _never_ interested. He was unlike Connor, who still tried to be nice about turning them down, Murphy made no attempt to be subtle or overly nice. Much like his twin treated anyone who didn't know their place in Murphy's personal space, he was abrupt and straightforward about letting people know when they needed to back off.

Honestly, Rocco was about the only person, besides Connor obviously, who Murphy allowed into his immediate personal space and that was probably just because they'd known Rocco for **years**, ever since just after they first arrived in the USA so many years ago.

Connor tried not to think about why women flirting with Murphy aggravated him, it was one of those thoughts and feelings that didn't belong within him. Speaking of, he wondered if it aggravated Murphy when it happened to Connor,

"Does et' bother yeh?" Connor knew he probably shouldn't ask, he had only bad feelings about where the conversation could lead, or was that just his own guilty mind rearing up again about possibly taboo feelings and subjects?

Shit.

Murphy didn't look awkward or uncomfortable at being asked, reaffirming for Connor that his own discomfort on the subject came from his growing disturbing feelings and thoughts toward Murphy. Said twin simply twitched his nose as he sniffed, a habit he'd had since childhood, unfortunately it was a habit that signified Murphy wasn't impressed or happy with something.

"I just wonder sometimes…" Murphy mumbled, keeping his eyes on the dark pavement as their boots tapped and scuffed.

"Wonder what?" Connor asked genuinely curious at his brother's hesitant tone.

Murphy sighed,

"If maybe yeh' want et'…"

Connor knew what Murphy was saying but before he could help it he was playing dumb,

"It? What's _it__,_ Murph?"

Understandably Murphy was not amused and he glued his gorgeous blue eyes to Connor as if daring him to try his patience on the subject,

"**It**, Connor, _sex_." He stated crisply and for reasons Connor would never understand, hearing the subtle lowering of Murphy's voice when he said 'sex' brought about that awful warmth in his body.

Connor felt like some sexually confused teenager.

He blinked a few times as he tried to remember what the conversation was about and then he shook his head, sniffing and huddling into his coat.

They were approaching the alley entrance to their rundown apartment building by now,

"Yeh' think I want sex, Murph?" he found himself also saying 'sex' quieter, which was just stupid.

"I don't know Connor, do yeh?" Murphy asked stiffly as they walked into the quiet bottom floor of the shitty building, but at least the wind was closed out behind them, "Cause' if yeh' do, then yeh' can, yeh' know." He added as he walked ahead of Connor up the first narrow staircase.

The stupid fucking elevator was broken again and without management for the illegally lived in building, they'd have to just wait until someone decided to fix it.

Connor couldn't help the look of confusion that came over his face at his twin's words, even if Murphy couldn't see it, he frowned,

"What the fuck are yeh' talking about?" he asked as he followed two steps behind, eyes pointedly on his sibling's back, "Why would I want sex, where are yeh' even getting this shit from…?" he noticed how Murphy took the steps quicker and he kept up, "…just cause' I don't want te' tell a girl te' piss off like a fuckin' arsehole, et' doesn't mean I want te' fuck her." He informed Murphy.

His mind briefly detoured –veered without warning- into the territory of sex, fucking and his recent staggering feelings and thoughts about Murphy. He nearly fell up the stairs when he tripped over his own shock and disgust as certain images he would rightfully burn in hell for, crossed his mind. Connor's near fall caused Murphy to glance back at him and he frowned, one eye narrowed as Connor steadied himself on the wall and the prayer for contrition once again burned on his tongue.

Those thoughts were officially a line crossed.

Connor could **not **be thinking of his sibling with such blatant sexual intent, having dreamed of kissing him while he lay dying was sinful and disturbing enough.

Murphy waited until Connor righted himself and then started ascending again, a few stairs later they reached the top fifth floor and walked the final stretch to their loft door. They walked by the broken door to the single staircase for the rooftop and by all of the other shit that had been stored and abandoned on that floor, some of which they'd found useful for their shabby living space when they'd first moved in.

At their door Murphy jammed his key in their mostly useless lock and pushed the flimsy door open.

Connor was still reeling from his thoughts so he hung back, hand balancing him against the unevenly plastered wall just beside the doorway. He watched as Murphy paused in the doorway to take his rosary off and hang it on one of the nails they'd hammered into the wall for that very purpose.

Connor stepped in once Murphy was further inside, already pulling his coat off and had walked over to their small round table littered with empty beer bottles, caps, an ashtray filled with ash and filters along with other miscellaneous rubbish and once there Murphy dropped his door key on the table so it skidded and clinked against a bottle.

Connor had just shut the door and he was holding the cross of his rosary in his hand, his mind and skin burning with guilt and worry and sin, when Murphy turned to face him, hands raising slightly at his sides,

"I think et' cause' yeh' won't talk about et', you won't talk te' **me**, Connor an' yer' dreamin' about meh _dying_. Yeh' been avoiding meh' at work, s'like yeh' don't want meh' around…" he said without taking a breath, his jaw working afterward, right eyebrow hiking up as he shifted his hands, restless and irritable.

Connor felt like shit, he hated having to make Murphy feel worried, let alone some sort of rejected abandonment.

He opened his mouth to deny what Murphy was accusing him of, but then he stopped and squeezed his cross absently, thinking it would probably be better to give his twin something, some kind of explanation. Murphy was seeking honesty, seeking confidence from Connor, to bridge the forming gap between them that made Connor feel like half of himself, so surely it did the same to Murphy.

And although it seemed impossible right then, he knew it'd be a slice of heaven to be in sync with Murphy again, so even if Connor couldn't so easily get over his mind fuckingly disturbing thoughts, he could certainly give his brother peace of mind. He sighed and took his rosary off to hang it up before starting to shrug his coat off and walking nearer to where Murphy stood at the table, but not too near,

"You were shot, Murph…" he said with a glance at his twin as he tossed his coat onto the tattered foam, iron framed couch and he stopped a few steps away from Murphy.

Murphy blinked slowly and looked at the floor, pursing his lips briefly before rubbing his fingers over his lips and chin and then turning back to the table to sift through the mess scattered there for one of their many strewn packets of cigarettes.

Connor could see the tension in the line of his twin's shoulders, they'd had dreams of losing one another before and it was always upsetting. When he saw Murphy wasn't finding anything on the table, Connor patted himself down, feeling for whether his smokes were in his coat or jeans and when he felt them out, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out what was left of his pack and his lighter.

When he looked at Murphy again and was about to offer it to him, Connor didn't have a second before his pack and lighter were taken from his hand, Murphy having come nearer and there was just about a foot space between them.

Jesus…proximity between them had never felt so stifling and sensitive, Connor didn't know if he could deal with it.

Murphy took two cigarettes out, placing them between his lips and he lit them up before handing one to Connor,_ taken from between his lips_, before Murphy puffed from his own. His knuckles grazed Connor's chest through his shirt when Murphy nudged him to take the cigarette where he held it up between their torsos.

Shit. Murphy had lit cigarettes for him hundreds of times in their 26 years of life, since they were 14 years old and had first started smoking, they'd shared cigarettes, drank from the same glasses and bottles, eaten from the same food and utensils…

So why now did the idea of putting that cigarette to his lips seem _different_? Fuck. Connor averted his eyes from Murphy's hand and the cigarette held between their chests as he took it between his own fingers and nodded once wordlessly in thanks, another unusual action from him which made Murphy's left eye narrow and his right eyebrow twitch up.

Connor ignored the look as he placed the cigarette between his lips and Jesus fucking Christ, why did the slight moisture on the filter make his senses go crazy?

_'__Because of that fucking dream…'_ he thought distractedly as he exhaled through his nose and slightly through his mouth, all the while Murphy just stared at him contemplatively.

That dream in which he'd **kissed** Murphy and he'd vividly imagined taste and texture, flesh, blood, sweat and spit…it was responsible for all of his confusion. And why the fuck had Murphy been dying anyway? Was there some significance to that? There had to be and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was, God, he was afraid to know what was really going on with him. Connor caught himself staring at Murphy's slightly parted lips and he hastily cuffed a hand through his hair and then rubbed where his shoulder met his neck as he glanced around the loft and stepped away from his observant twin,

"What made yeh' think this had anythin' te' do with sex?" he questioned innocently, really, and only afterward realized what he'd asked…and it made him uncomfortable because of his cold sweat inducing, rapidly developing feelings of...incestuous things.

Connor swallowed thickly as he turned and took a few steps toward the old rusty fridge that stood in the corner of the loft and he opened it, it was lacking food but not beer so he reached in and hooked his free hand fingers around two bottle necks to lift them out.

He heard Murphy sniff and then came the creak of the old wooden chair his twin favored at their little round table,

"Just thought maybe yeh' wanted that…" hesitance again, "…et's been a while, years since we made that choice…so…" he trailed off.

They never directly spoke about what Murphy seemed to prefer referring to as 'it' and 'that' whenever he so rarely mentioned their chosen celibacy. When and if 'it' was ever brought up, the subject was always in vague terms and _'_it' hadn't been brought up in so long that Connor found himself curious about it now when it was mentioned.

"Yeh' thought I wanted sex cause' I've been a little distant Murph, what kind of fuckin' logic is that?" he asked as he walked to the table and sat down opposite his twin, holding out the second bottle to his sibling.

Murphy glanced at the offered bottle and then took it and Connor told himself the feeling of Murphy's fingers brushing over his own felt like it would on any other ordinary day,

"With me, Connor, yeh've been distant with meh'." Was all he mumbled as he unscrewed the bottle cap.

That was more than enough said and Connor made a bit of a face at himself, annoyed, disgusted, disappointed all at once in his own actions…then he remembered his slowly burning cigarette and he smoked from it.

He nodded after a beat of silence and smoking,

"Aye…" he admitted as Murphy was stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray, elbows on the table encircling his half way empty beer, "…I have, m'sorry Murph, the dream was-…"

"Before the dream Connor, et's been a few weeks now." Murphy stated, blue eyes dead on Connor's and so serious, "That schupid' fuckin' dream just made et' obvious is all, before last night yeh' were already distant."

Connor hadn't even realized it. Was this disturbing _thing_ something he hadn't acknowledged until just last night, but it had been building all along?

Murphy reached for the cigarettes,

"Yeh' take confession less, an' when yeh' do et's short an' when yeh' come out, you always look worse off than when yeh' go in," Murphy went on as Connor sipped his beer to quell the dryness in his throat, "yeh' toss an' turn in yer' sleep, if yeh' sleep at all, I don't know if you have been because I haven't been getting much." because they were connected. They shared each others discomforts and so if Connor didn't sleep, Murphy would struggle to as well, "Yeh' drink less at the bar an' more at home, yeh' don't talk much…te' me at least…" he paused, "…do yeh' get the fuckin' point now." He poked a finger onto the table surface as he held his unlit cigarette.

Connor could do nothing but crack an awkward smile and huff out an empty laugh,

"Jesus, Murph…" Murphy once again, did not look amused,"…what do yeh' want meh' te' say?" Connor raised his hands up slightly and sat back in his chair, "M'sorry I've been distracted." It was all he had to say, barely even an excuse.

Murphy twitched his nose again in irritation and Connor stared, with forced calm, at Murphy's boyishly handsome yet 'pretty' face as he fiddled with his cigarette between his fingers,

"Okay, so what's been on yer' mind?" Murphy reached for the lighter, his tone irritable.

Connor wanted to redirect the conversation away from what had been on his dirty, sinful mind, so he smirked and took a last puff of his cigarette before he answered,

"S'not been sex, Murph, swear to God…" he could have bitten his tongue as he thoughtlessly lied and swore it to God, when just ten minutes earlier he'd had distinctly sexual thoughts about his own fucking brother.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Murphy looked ready to comment and Connor felt the need to speak first, to deflect and divert,

"Speakin' of, Murph," he pushed up his sleeves and reached for his beer after dropping his filter in the ashtray, "Why do yeh' say _it_ when yeh' talk about our celibacy?"

It was a straightforward and intentionally derailing question. And Murphy's raised right eyebrow and slightly widened eyes told Connor he'd successfully arrested Murphy's train of thought and diverted it to something different for the moment. Murphy rubbed his lips with his free fingers before smoking from the cigarette held in the same hand,

"S'that what **you** call et', celibacy?"

Connor frowned and swallowed a mouthful of beer,

"Aye, s'what et' is, a vow never to fuck, marry or do anything pertaining te' sex, that's celibacy, Murph." He explained it as he saw it.

Murphy frowned slightly,

"We never made a vow…" he mumbled and then louder he said, "…an' celibacy just sounds so, priest like."

Connor just shrugged facially at the last comment,

"Aye, we never made a vow, not out aloud at least." he watched Murphy consider his words.

There was some silence as Murphy smoked his cigarette and Connor lit another and then Murphy spoke as he fiddled with his empty beer bottle,

"I never thought yeh'd say yes…" he started a new line of conversation and Connor remained sitting back, outwardly relaxed, smoking as he raised his eyebrows at Murphy in question of what he was talking about, glad for the lighter tone in his twin's voice, "…when I suggested et', "Connor smirked at the word _it_ and Murphy snorted quietly and bobbed his eyebrows, a smirk touching his lips, "celibacy, I thought yeh'd say no."

Connor tilted his head,

"Why's that?" he wondered, since he'd been pretty much in sync with Murphy on the feelings of sex back then, even if something bad was happening to his mind presently.

"Because' Conn, yeh' seemed te' like sex, yeh' certainly had et' more than I did." Murphy said with a definitive smirk now.

The mood was lighter and Connor was relieved.

Connor offered an expression of vague surprise,

"I was experiencing things, we were 18 an' Ma finally stopped expecting us home at night," he felt amused and curious at Murphy's subtle head shake and quick glance at the table top, "besides, et' wasn't that many in that year, couldn't have been many more than you." he said and found himself wondering, "How many did yeh' go with, Murph?" he asked with a curious smile.

He really was curious, because while they'd told each other about the details of their sexual experiences when they'd been having them, they'd never stated whether it had been with the same girl or different girls, so this was the first time they were comparing numbers.

Murphy looked at the far wall, but it was too brief a glance for him to be thinking through a long list, so it was an avoidance of eye contact or an eye roll, before Murphy shrugged lightly,

"Two." He said evenly, he didn't sound like he was embarrassed by that number.

So it had only been two girls for Murphy in the time starting from when they were 18, through the 14 months during which they were 'sexually active', before they'd agreed on 'it', their celibacy.

Connor's number **was** higher actually, quite a bit higher and he felt like a shit for it.

"An' yours?" Murphy raised that sharp right eyebrow and he looked like he knew the answer would trump his own.

Connor licked his lips, eyes on the table as he mumbled,

"Nine."

Murphy shook his head again and exhaled a stream of smoke from his nose,

"I s'pose that's just how many yeh' slept with, how many did yeh' kiss an' fool around with?"

Connor really felt like a shit,

"A fair amount-…"

"I fuckin' knew et'…" Murphy was smirking now, "…I wasn't even tryin' te' keep count but I knew there was more than a dozen."

More than a dozen, yes, Connor had certainly not wasted time once he'd graduated from their catholic school and had finally been granted new privileges by their Ma, such as the lifting of their curfew and being free to come and go as they pleased.

"Well, what about you?" Connor asked back, standing up to get another two beers, despite them having work the next day, he couldn't help the urge.

"I only kissed four girls an' two of them I slept with." Murphy answered evenly again.

"An' fooled around with?" Connor asked as he retrieved the beers.

"Aye, four in total." Murphy affirmed and then took the beer Connor handed to him, "So I was right, yeh' did like sex…" Connor sat down again, preparing an answer to that when Murphy continued, "…but then, why did yeh' agree to et'… te' celibacy?"

Connor leaned forward, elbows on the table,

"Et' wasn't about liking et', Murph, I'm sure yeh' liked et' well enough yerself…" oddly enough, Murphy's expression didn't give away anything with regards to Connor's statement, "…et' was about whether I needed et', whether et' was fulfilling an' really, et' wasn't, et' honestly made me feel impure. Great in the moment, but depressing an' disappointing in confession." He said honestly, because that had been and was still the truth.

It had been all well and good when he'd been doing it with a girl, but the aftermath never felt right, no matter how many times he tried. He'd been eager and stupid and good looking enough that it didn't matter whether he built up a reputation for being an asshole or heartbreaker, girls had loved him and he'd been able to pick, choose and refuse, so he had. But there had never been the intention within him to stay with a girl, to commit or build a relationship. At the end of each tryst he always went back home, back to his shared bedroom with his twin even at 18 years old, where their beds were a meter apart, an arm's reach away, and that was where he found peace.

Murphy had finished his cigarette and was nursing his beer, a sign that he was done drinking for the night whereas Connor didn't feel half ready to call it.

"So yer' really fine with et', yeh' haven't been thinking of finding someone?" Murphy asked quietly.

It struck Connor then, like a painful stab –unusual and hurtful- that Murphy might be asking for himself,

"No, I haven't, but what about you, is that why yer' asking, Murph?" he kept his tone forcefully neutral.

But inside Connor felt cold dread and disturbing jealously as he awaited an answer.

Murphy stared at him for a few seconds before he sighed and shook his head, getting to his feet,

"No, s'not like that Connor, unlike you, connecting with people like that…with sex…" he was pulling his shirt off, undressing for bed and oh God, Connor felt his pulse quicken, "…et' wasn't fer' me. I just felt dirty every time."

_'__Christ…'_ Connor's mind made word and image associations with Murphy being shirtless and the words sex and dirty and then there was the sound of Murphy's belt buckle unfastening and the collective onslaught of sight and sound went straight through him, down…down…

He shut his eyes and resisted the urge to freak out over the bloom of heat between his legs, not where Murphy could witness it, he'd freak out later.

"…there was no connection Murphy, in the end et' was all empty." He mumbled, rubbing at his forehead.

"Aye." Murphy agreed in a mumble as well and Connor heard the identifiable slide of denim –Murphy's jeans down his legs-, the shuffle and pull and fump of his boots and then the jeans finding their place on the concrete floor.

Connor told himself not to look…but he did anyway, his blue eyes opening to the sight of his twin sitting and then lying down on his back on his mattresses, laid out in nothing but his gray boxer shorts, both legs bent up so his shorts slid back and his lean muscled thighs were in complete view.

All milk white skin, partially covered in few places with downy fair hair and Connor watched as Murphy breathed softly, he watched the smooth dip of his twin's stomach as he exhaled and the stretch of his torso as Murphy rested one arm above his head on his pillow while his other hand rested on his chest and his fingers tapped a soundless rhythm against his skin.

Wasn't he cold like that…so blatantly fucking naked…? Well, almost…

But no, Connor didn't feel particularly cold in the loft, so probably not. They were mostly used to the weather of Boston after so many years and their loft, when the windows were closed, tended to keep heat in pretty well.

So there was no reason for Murphy not to feel comfortable enough to lay himself out like that.

It's not as if he had any clue about Connor's perversion and how close it was to manifesting physically.

Connor sat for a few minutes with his head rested in one hand, deeply bothered and stressed. He finished his beer and another cigarette before he got up, locked their flimsy door and started to undress himself to sleep, deciding to shower in the morning because there was usually hot water then, just as Murphy had probably decided.

He was standing in only his jeans and had just pulled his belt from the loops when he glanced –God help him- over the expanse of Murphy's body again, bottom to top and his heart dropped into his stomach when he saw Murphy's blue eyes had opened just slightly, watching him.

Connor forced himself to look away _casually_ as he dropped his belt on the floor, but inside he was swarming with panic and shame and more panic.

Had Murphy noticed that long inappropriate look? Had it been obvious how closely Connor had been looking at his near nudity?

"I thought yeh'd be asleep." Connor rasped out, cursing himself mentally for his voice.

Murphy didn't answer immediately, instead he sighed and shifted, dropping one leg to lay flat while raising his other arm so he could rest his head on his hands and Connor's mouth went dry at the shifting of lines and planes and muscle along his twin's body.

The feelings were an abomination, unholy and vile.

Connor had to sit down on his mattresses with his back to Murphy as he dropped his jeans because he felt a stiffening in his cock that made him want to pull his hair out and perform acts of contrition on his knees until they were bruised and bleeding.

"How can I sleep with all that noise in yer' head, Connor." Murphy stated honestly, quietly. Another thing they hardly spoke of was the strange connection they shared mentally and physically, but it was as real and as tangible between them as each other, so they respected it and valued it.

"Sorry…" Connor said sincerely, "…I hoped the alcohol would shut et' up." He mumbled back.

Murphy sighed heavily, but didn't ask any more questions or make any more comments and Connor was grateful for it.

Once Connor had his boots and jeans off, stripped down to his boxers, he laid down on his back and hit the switch beside his bed which put out the two working lights running above their mattresses, casting them into relative darkness. He didn't even bother closing his eyes and pretending to try to sleep, he just stared at the shadowed, cracked ceiling and silently deprecated himself.

* * *

><p>At least a half hour passed laying in silence before Murphy spoke quietly,<p>

"Will yeh' take a vow, Connor?" his question was spoken softly but he didn't sound like he was sleepy or had been asleep.

Connor didn't glance over, he couldn't take the pain or guilt of another filthy thought after his body's betrayal earlier when he'd looked at Murphy.

He knew what Murphy was asking though and that a simple yes or no answer would solidify where he stood on their previous non-verbally committed celibacy, so he answered simply with,

"Aye, I will, Murphy."

That was all he needed to say to affirm for his twin that he was vowing himself to a life of abstinence, so they could stay devoted to God and one another…except while Murphy was probably doing it for himself and God, Connor was doing it for Murphy, because he wanted to spend his life with his brother.

Before his mind's perversion and right then, Murphy had always been the single most important thing to Connor.

It made him wonder as he closed his eyes in hope of sleep…whether God had left him to suffer with his demons because when it came down to it, Connor put Murphy before God, and always would.

* * *

><p><em><em>My cave is deep now, yet your light is shining through...<em>_

_...I cover my eyes, still all I see is you._


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Boondock Saints.**

**Sub Disclaimer: I do not own Damien Rice's music and lyrics.**

**NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly. **

**Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale**

**Pairing: Twincest (Connor/Murphy)**

**Movie Verse:** **First Movie; Pre Canon - Canon / Canon Deviation**

**Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Connor and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.**

**Sub note: *Connor and Murphy's ages are canon, as stated by them in a deleted movie scene when they receive a call from their mother.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Cold, cold water surrounds me now<em>  
><em> And all I've got is your hand...<em>

* * *

><p>Connor woke up the following morning to the sound of running water, uneven splatters pelting concrete and tile filling the small space of the loft. The sound of the street below was more noticeable as well, so Connor assumed the windows above their beds were open, letting in the morning air, which wasn't cold. Strange weather.<p>

He was lying on his front, the side of his face pressed into his lumpy pillow and his arms somewhere underneath his single blanket which was tangled around him, a sign of another restless night but at least it had been dreamless. Connor inhaled deeply, tired and irritable and knowing full well that he had a day at work to face, and after a cough and sniff he opened his eyes…

…to the sight of Murphy's entire naked back where he stood in the shower just a few meters away.

Connor's eyes widened slightly, his heart rate sped up, a certain traitorous place on his tired body tightened and warmed inappropriately and he turned his face fully into his pillow, wanting to scream as he considered smothering himself, his fists finding the sides of the pillow and _squeezing_ until his knuckles turned white.

He'd seen Murphy naked countless times, from the time they'd been little boys they'd shared a room, bathroom, clothes and personal space and so many other things brothers shared. They were very close siblings, closer than close and he _knew_ what Murphy looked like stark naked…and yet there he lay, so _affected_ by it in a way that would quickly drive him mad and make him hate himself, from just the sight of his sibling naked in the shower.

_'__Jesus Christ…'_ Connor thought with a deep, pained frown hidden in his pillow and he held his breath for a few seconds before he started to mumble –muffled- quietly,

"My God, I am sorry for having offended Thee; and I detest my sins above every other evil, because they displease Thee, my God. Who for Thine infinite goodness art so deser-…"

"Connor…" Murphy's voice interrupted his hurried and questionably sincere contrite prayer.

Connor's heart was beating sorely in his chest cavity as he forced himself to breathe and raise his face from his pillow, not looking at Murphy but instead at the off yellow colored wall, chin rested on the pillow,

"Hm?" he managed.

"Were you prayin'?"

Connor realized then that the shower was shut off, so Murphy would have been able to hear him mumbling into his pillow, but at least he didn't seem to have heard what prayer it was. That would have raised questions Connor never wanted to answer.

"Aye, an' yeh' interrupted me." He said steadily, trying to restore normalcy and be his usual self.

Murphy snorted, followed by the sound of his bare feet patting on the concrete and Connor's pulse quickened knowing Murphy was probably near to the beds, nearer to Connor and likely wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, if that,

"Yeh' can finish at mass, get up, we have te' go soon."

Connor shifted onto his elbows and rubbed his face and unruly hair roughly, still not looking at Murphy as he listened to the patting of his sibling walking again, probably to the old clothes hamper in which they kept their mix of clean clothes, mind you, they probably needed to do laundry soon.

There was some quiet shuffling from his twin before Connor decided,

"I'm not goin' te' mass, Murphy…"

A beat of silence, then,

"What?"

The only times they'd ever missed mass had been when one of them had been sick, otherwise it was a ritual, a necessity in their lives since boyhood, since when they'd started to go to church for themselves and not just because their Ma took or told them to.

Connor chose not to answer, so Murphy chose to press the subject,

"Evenin' mass then?" he asked.

_'__Fuck…'_ Connor sighed heavily and pushed himself up onto his side and then swung his legs over to the side of the mattress, facing his back to Murphy,

"I'm not goin' te' mass today." He informed his twin.

Connor knew, despite what prayer was meant to achieve, that he'd only feel worse if he went and prayed for strength and guidance and then avoided any kind of confession completely when he had such a dirty sin to confess to…and he didn't want to feel _worse_.

There was silence from Murphy verbally after that, the following noises Connor waited for and to be over were the sounds of a fastening zipper and the clink of a belt buckle and then only he stood up, glancing at Murphy to confirm that he was at least half decent, before he walked around his bed and headed to the shower area where he started up the water.

Connor listened as Murphy moved the dirty dishes – most of them a few days old- out of the single kitchen sink they had access to, which doubled as a wash basin for them, and he knew his twin was going to brush his teeth.

He doubted their mother would be proud of the place they'd chosen to live in, she'd never been the type to scrub floors and dust often but she certainly wouldn't approve of how they lived, because it was a dump. Still, for the pair of them, the loft was home enough…and it was economically viable.

Connor dropped his boxer shorts and kicked them aside, he'd clear them away later- maybe tomorrow-, before he stepped under the moderately warm spray of water, wetting his hair first and rubbing his hands back and forth through it, feeling its thickness and greasiness from the previous day's work and sweat, as the water gradually wet the rest of his skin.

He could faintly hear Murphy brushing his teeth over the sound of the shower and he quickly soaped himself up, hoping to, but he doubted he would, finish before Murphy was done brushing…after which his twin would run a comb through his dark, smooth wet hair. Connor shook his head abruptly, clenching his jaw and forcing himself not to punch the wall when the thought of running his hands through Murphy's soft, dark hair crossed his mind.

And yet again, it wasn't as if he'd never touched Murphy's hair. Fair enough, the last time he'd petted his brother's head his twin had been sick with the flu and fever almost two years prior and it'd been while Murphy was throwing up, but still, he'd done it…and probably could again if the situation allowed for it.

But it wasn't as if he could just go ahead and pet Murphy's hair randomly and not raise any questions from his brother, surely an action like that would be weird and make his twin feel uncomfortable?

Murphy was done spitting and rinsing and Connor heard the tap shut off, he glanced over his shoulder at Murphy just as Murphy glanced at him. His twin was wearing nothing but his usual blue jeans and dark socks, and Connor discreetly listened as Murphy went and sat down on his bed to put his boots on. Connor didn't look at him again as he finished showering and then grabbed his towel from where it hung over the old shower curtain railing, he wrapped it around his waist and went to the clean hamper to look for boxers.

* * *

><p>By the time Connor was dressed in his jeans and a gray long sleeve shirt, heading to brush his teeth, Murphy had pulled his pea coat on and was headed for the door. Connor wanted to ask where he was going, since Connor himself wasn't ready to leave, but then he remembered his twin would attend morning mass before work and so he would have to leave earlier, without Connor.<p>

The idea of not travelling to work with Murphy was foreign but Connor let it go, if he was making Murphy feel like he was being pushed away, it probably wasn't right to try and force him to hang around if he needed to do something on his own.

Connor finished getting ready a short while later, doing a final run of his hands through his thick, damp hair so it settled into a mess that would dry that way and then he pulled his coat on, grabbed his loft key, smokes, lighter, wallet and finally on his way out, his rosary and he opened the door, stepping out into the cool top floor area.

He paused with the door near closed when he realized Murphy, who'd stepped out fifteen minutes ago, was crouching down against the wall near the stairs and smoking, elbows on his knees, head rested in one hand and the other stretched out and holding his slowly burning cigarette.

Connor frowned, shutting and locking the door once he had put his rosary on and then he pocketed his keys as Murphy slowly stood up, said twin taking a long final drag from his cigarette before dropping it on the floor and crushing it under his boot.

"I thought yeh'd be gone te' mass." Connor commented as he approached his twin, tucking his rosary under his shirt.

"Yeh' thought or you hoped, Connor?" Murphy gave him a truly displeased look before he started off down the stairs.

Connor sighed and quickly headed after him,

"I just thought yeh' _would_ go, yeh' don't have te' miss et' just cause' I am."

"Fuck you, Connor." Murphy said with obvious frustration in his tone and at five staircases down to the ground floor, he barged out of the building with a harsh shove to the door and Connor had to stop it from bouncing and swinging back on him.

Connor quickened his steps to catch up and walk beside Murphy because despite his twin's anger, he'd waited outside the loft all that time and that told Connor that his brother would not be going to mass without him. He felt bad for keeping Murphy from going, especially to the morning mass which his twin enjoyed most. But Connor just couldn't face mass that day, especially since he'd be so near to Murphy when they prayed and already he could smell their shared deodorant on Murphy's skin as the wind wafted it in his direction and it smelled so fucking good for some terrible reason.

He didn't even care how it smelled on his own skin, not when it complimented Murphy so well. Inexpensive as it was, it was good on his brother…and shit, Connor couldn't keep allowing himself to think those things.

And fearing those thoughts would occur in church was just another reason not to go.

They made their way to work in silence and the buzzing in Connor's ears all the way there was Murphy's frustration at full volume, not just his own.

* * *

><p>A few weeks went by with the twins being less than themselves toward and around one another.<p>

Long, painful weeks of Connor doing all he could to keep his mind in appropriate places and avoiding looking at his twin excessively and Murphy seemed to notice but he didn't comment, almost as if he were just prepared to wait it out, so patiently.

In the meantime, Connor visited the bar more than he did the church and he felt horrible because Murphy did not go to mass without him even once, even though he barely spoke to Connor, he never left his side. They went to work together, to the bar together and home together and when Connor could force himself, they went to mass together.

Murphy had even taken to leaving a mass abruptly with him whenever Connor felt like his skin was crawling just being on his knees or when he was having trouble walking up to the alter to kiss the feet of Jesus' statue.

His brother **never** left his side and never would and Connor was so grateful and felt so unworthy of it.

Presently, it was the exact day after mid-March, the sixteenth, and by that time the weather was finally lukewarm in Boston. Aside from the weather being somewhere between good and warm and possibly raining, Murphy's mood was looking up and by default for that reason, so was Connor's.

It was the night before St. Paddy's day, one of Murphy's favorite days of the year aside from Easter and Christmas, somewhat typically of an Irish Catholic Connor supposed, since they were his favorite holidays too. But there was a significance to the day before St. Paddy's that nobody of their new friends in America knew about and it was kind of their personal favorite day, since it was their birthday.

27* years old.

Connor had told Murphy fifteen minutes earlier that he was just going to run to the convenience store around the corner from their block for smokes and beer, but he was currently stepping out of the liquor store a few blocks down with a special purchase. Even though Murphy hadn't really been laughing or joking with him, he'd at least spared a smile for Connor that Tuesday morning when they'd woken up and looked at each other, wordlessly wishing one another a happy birthday before they'd gotten ready for work.

Connor hadn't been able to skip mass that morning, just as he wouldn't on St. Paddy's, Christmas or Easter. It was not only something he had to do by their faith, but on their birthday it was a tradition for them. So they'd gone together and Connor had endured, wishing he could feel relief from church the way he had just a few months back before dirty sin wrapped itself around his thoughts. All the same, he knew Murphy needed it and he'd patiently spent time with Murphy, a bit more than usual, as his twin prayed and afterward lit two votive candles before he went into confession.

Connor had sat in the pew near the alter of candles at the side of the church, while he waited for his twin, staring at the two candles Murphy had lit and while he knew one of them symbolized a prayer for himself, he wondered what the prayer was of.

He sighed presently as he carried the somewhat pricey –for their meager budget- bottle of whiskey he'd purchased for himself and Murphy to toast each other on their birthday. He yearned for things to go back to normal, he prayed quietly at night for the feelings and thoughts he'd been developing for Murphy to just disappear and leave him in peace, so he could be happy with his sibling again, so that Murphy could be happy and his smiles would not be so rare.

The walk back was brisk and Connor's coat felt too warm as he ascended the stairs, belatedly realizing that the elevator hadn't been on the bottom floor, which meant it was working again. Connor didn't double back though, climbing the stairs two at a time instead, itching for the taste of some quality Irish whiskey.

He walked straight into their loft and glanced around, eyes falling on Murphy where he sat at the small cluttered table, opening up their Chinese takeout which had obviously been delivered while he'd been out. Connor smirked as he shut the door with his foot,

"Smell's good." He quipped before walking over to the table.

"Aye…but somethin' homier would have been nicer." Murphy said with a small smile around the cigarette between his lips.

Connor found himself agreeing and he hummed as he placed the brown paper bagged bottle on the table and started to shrug off his coat,

"Oh aye, like mutton stew…" he grinned, enjoying the lighter atmosphere between them since Murphy was in a good mood,

"Arán bocht tí…" (Potato Pancake) Murphy said in Irish with his smile widening as he took his cigarette from his lips and placed it in the ashtray between the various takeout boxes.

Connor couldn't help a snort as he dropped his coat over the back of his chair and then sat down opposite Murphy,

"Jesus, Murph, how fuckin' home sick are yeh?"

"Hm, it'd be so good though…" Murphy ignored the question, expression thoughtful before he raised his eyebrows and he reached for the brown bag, "…what's this, then?"

Connor lost his smile for a second, wondering if his twin's craving for their homeland was because of the way things had been between them. But he didn't dwell on those thoughts, he'd been doing his best not to lately, so he dropped the train of thought as Murphy had and watched his twin pull the whiskey bottle out of the bag and when he grinned Connor did too,

"Ohhhhh, shit," Murphy said loudly and he glanced at Connor, "how the fuck did yeh' afford this, Connor?" he asked as he unscrewed the cap with a snap, sniffed from the bottle, then took a swig and as he swallowed he hummed at the burn Connor knew and loved just as much.

And Connor found that the sound of Murphy humming that way was a sound he could grow inappropriately fond of, so he tried not to memorize it and cleared his throat,

"I was savin' up fer' et', thought we'd celebrate our birthday proper this year." He explained as he sat forward and reached for the bottle of Bushmills Black Bush, "Give et' here, don't hog et' now…" he took it when Murphy handed it to him after he'd taken another drink.

"S'fuckin' good." Murphy commented, rubbing the heel of his palm across his smiling mouth with a look of expectation on his face just after Connor swallowed his first mouthful. Connor gave the bottle an appreciative glance and then nodded,

"Aye, s'fuckin' excellent." And Murphy was nodding, grinning and reaching for a plastic fork.

Connor opted for the chopsticks, he liked the challenge and wanted to master it, whereas Murphy liked to be able to eat without obstruction. It was one of the subtle differences about them, their lack of physical similarity being a larger difference, not including their height and weight and blue eyes of course.

The evening passed by quickly, it was after ten PM soon and they'd finished the bottle of whiskey, two packets of cigarettes, all the takeout and eight games of Black Jack. They were sipping from their respective cans of Guinness when Connor conceded with a short curse to another game and Murphy snickered at him,

"Yer' so fuckin' bad at this." He informed Connor as he slid the cards on the table toward himself.

"Fuck off, Murph, gamblin' goes against God, I'm not s'pose te' be good at et'." Connor made a lame excuse with a lazy but cocky smirk.

"Oh fuck you!" Murphy said smugly and lazily pointed a finger at Connor across the table with the hand in which he held the card stack, "Yer' so full of shit, Conn." he was smiling as he picked up his halfway burned out cigarette from the ashtray, "We're not even gamblin', yer' just losin' like a bitch while I school yeh'." He teased.

Connor rolled his eyes and threw a stray bottle cap at Murphy, who giggled in that high pitched way he sometimes did when he was tipsy verging on drunk,

"Shut et'." He grumbled halfheartedly at his snickering twin.

Card games were never his forte, but pool on the other hand, he was damn good at that.

They lapsed into a short silence then, they'd finished the entire bottle of whiskey neat and had been through more than half a dozen beers by that time and Connor was lighting up a new cigarette to wind down, his elbows on the table and thumb clicking the lighter while Murphy fiddled with the cards. He dropped his lighter on the table once the smoke was lit and rubbed his forehead after inhaling from the cigarette,

"D'yeh' feel like McGinty's?" Connor asked evenly, putting the idea out there, but honestly, he didn't feel like going, they'd be there the following night to celebrate St. Paddy's with their friends, but he felt their birthday should always just be about them.

Murphy looked at him, fingers rubbing over his chin and bottom lip, which he subtly licked before raising his eyebrows slightly, expression unchanging,

"If yeh' want."

Connor silently thanked God for his brother, who seemed willing to do whatever he wanted.

After a moment of swirling smoke and just their breathing Connor shook his head in the negative, because he didn't want to go, even if it was often easier to be in a crowd with Murphy than completely alone with him these days. Murphy nodded at him in agreement and then they smoked and finished their final beers in silence.

After that was decided Connor thought bed seemed like a good idea, he felt so fucking tired. They had work the next day anyway and sitting in silence with Murphy was starting to stress him out, especially after a nice relief period, because he wondered what his twin was thinking about, more so since he was glancing at Connor every so often.

Connor moved somewhat unsteadily to his mattresses and decided that taking his shirt off was as much effort as he could muster, so he sat down at the foot of his bed in just his jeans and boots and lay back with a sigh.

He still had his rosary on and he knew Murphy had noticed he wore it more often than before.

"You okay?" Murphy asked quietly and Connor opened his eyes, he hadn't realized he'd closed them, and watched as Murphy stood up, smoke trailing from his nose and mouth as he stubbed his final cigarette out.

"Aye, just fuckin' tired." Connor answered in a light tone and closed his eyes again, trying not to sound depressed, despite starting to feel it.

There was a sigh from Murphy and then Connor was shocked to feel a tug at his boot laces. His eyes popped open and he raised his head to look at Murphy where he was crouching at Connor's bent up legs and feet planted flat on the floor,

"What are yeh' doin', Murph?" he hoped he didn't sound as confused and awkward as he suddenly felt.

"Takin' care of my younger brother…" he said with a lopsided smirk as he yanked the first boot off Connor's navy blue socked foot.

Connor laughed quietly and shook his head,

"You fuckin' know I came out first, Murph, best yeh' be comin' te' terms with et'." He smiled as his second boot was unlaced and pulled off and his stomach felt awfully light.

"You fuckin' wish, until Ma tells us yeh' came out first, I won't believe et'." Murphy said with a hard smack to Connor's calf which felt so comfortable and close and familiar that it warmed Connor's chest. **Finally** a normal feeling, Connor enjoyed it, savored it, "Open yer' pants." Murphy added absently just as Connor was trying to memorize the warm chest feeling, but unfortunately it all gravitated south at those completely innocent words.

Connor just laid there, head and body flat, and he tried to breathe and block out the feelings and images threatening to spill into his sanity, but Murphy took his lack of reaction as a sign that he wasn't going to do it himself,

"Fuckin' Connor, yer' not even drunk…" Murphy huffed lightly and after a soundless shift Connor felt a tug on his belt buckle.

This was not a first either, since their first - worst - drinking days when their tolerance had been low and their limits not yet realized, the lessor drunk brother would undress whichever one of them was too drunk to do it themselves, if it could be managed.

But this felt different now to Connor, the feeling of his belt sliding from the loops of his jeans after it was unbuckled with a tug, the careless pressure of Murphy's fingers as he popped the button and drew down the zipper, and when Murphy took hold of the waist of Connor's jeans…the feeling of his warm knuckles against Connor's lower stomach…

_'__Christ…help me…'_ Connor felt his body react and his arousal swell.

He had to stop Murphy before his reaction to the innocent gesture of help became too much to conceal physically.

Connor felt Murphy's fingers skim his waist, fingertips slightly rough and warm to the touch, as he adjusted his hold on Connor's jeans and then tugged down,

"Lift yer' waist yeh' lazy bastard." Murphy mumbled and Connor didn't do it.

He couldn't do it, not when his body was threatening the start of a semi.

Fuck, he wanted to scream, he felt so filthy…yet so fucking turned on.

Connor pulled himself up smoothly –quickly-, abdominals tensing as he did so, until he was sitting up and was able to conceal what was happening in the confines of his jeans and shorts by leaning forward, arms rested on his knees, Murphy leaning back on his heels to give Connor some room.

Connor figured he should probably say something since he found himself staring closely, about a foot away, at Murphy's somewhat tired but relaxed expression, he looked content and loving and all the things Connor was eternally grateful for.

Connor wondered back to a question he'd asked himself a few weeks earlier, about whether it'd be okay to pet Murphy's dark, smooth looking hair without any real reason. Murphy wasn't sick and Connor wasn't drunk, would it be weird? He supposed the worst that could happen if he tried, would be Murphy pushing his hand away and telling him to fuck off, which would be alright, just to test.

Connor knew he shouldn't, not with lingering heat in his loins and the sight of a tired, slightly tipsy Murphy so close. With his lips slightly moist from his habit of licking them, eyes focused and crystalline, skin fair and lightly sticky from sweat, with the way his black T-shirt fit him just right across his broad shoulders…and the way the line of beads on his dark rosary -visible just above the neckline- contrasted against his skin.

Because Connor wearing his rosary meant Murphy would wear his.

Connor reached out and placed his right hand on the side of Murphy's head, the soft, dark hair there was pleasant and cool against Connor's palm,

"I thank God fer' yeh', Murph…everyday…" he confessed quietly, a sad smile twitching onto his face as he was taking in the sight of his twin's face with every ounce of his love, both platonic and non, shining in his eyes.

Murphy looked at him seriously as Connor threaded his fingers into Murphy's hair gently and petted…no, caressed, his thumb gliding over Murphy's ear as Connor kept his breathing as even as possible.

He didn't know if he expected Murphy to say anything but when he didn't, Connor wasn't so surprised, Murphy probably didn't know how to respond, since Connor wasn't drunk but his words were mushy.

And his hand had slipped up and then down the back of Murphy's head, stroking the silky, cool strands of short hair as it slid beneath Connor's palm and between his fingers, until he was actually massaging the back of Murphy's head while just staring at him. It felt too intimate for Connor…and he knew he shouldn't be doing it.

And he made no excuses while Murphy was just watching him carefully, but he wasn't pushing Connor away.

"Is breá liom tú, deartháir." (I love you, brother) Connor said with complete honesty, his eyes looking straight into his twin's when he said it.

Murphy blinked slowly and then he moved forward, bowing his head and his arms encircled Connor's torso as he pressed his face into Connor's bare shoulder.

Connor might as well have been on fire for how his skin burned with sin and heat everywhere Murphy's bare skin directly touched his in the awkward embrace. Awkward because the MacManus brother's didn't hug, so it was strange.

Connor didn't push his twin away though, not even for the sinful burn to his skin or for the strangeness, how could he? Especially not in that situation, at that time when he'd finally allowed Murphy close after weeks of pushing him away. No. So he kept his hand buried in Murphy's silky, short hair, pressed his cheek and lips to the side of his twin's head and wrapped his other arm around Murphy's shoulders as he held him.

"I love yeh' too, Connor." Murphy mumbled against his shoulder.

Connor pursed his lips, careful to keep Murphy at a safe distance from his body since his brother was kneeling part way between his jean clad legs. Because Connor's body was burning with sin and his cock was getting harder by the second…every second he inhaled the smell of smoke in Murphy's hair, the scent of his day-worn skin and could feel their clammy skin contacting.

Connor was definitely going to burn in hell.

When Murphy drew back Connor forced himself to do so as well, he felt loss and relief when there was space between them again and cool air between their bodies. Murphy remained kneeling there as he raised his hands and Connor barely suppressed a shiver when Murphy's fingers and knuckles grazed his neck and shoulders as said twin lifted Connor's rosary off and over his head.

Murphy held the rosary in a secure fist and then smiled small and genuinely,

"We should get some sleep, Connor, et's Saint Paddy's day tomorrow."

Connor nodded once and carded a hand through his hair, lowering his gaze,

"Yea'." He agreed since they'd have lots of drinking to do and would need their rest.

"Can yeh' get yer' fuckin' jeans off then?" Murphy asked playfully as he stood up and pushed Connor's head lightly.

Connor retaliated with a punch to Murphy's thigh, just grazing the denim as his twin jumped away quickly,

"I can undress me'self, so shut et' and get me a smoke why don't yeh'?" Connor requested with a tired smile.

Murphy then kicked up Connor's T-shirt so it hit said twin in the face lightly before Murphy walked to the table to do as asked, snickering all the while.

Connor was too tired to do more than bundle up the shirt and throw it back at Murphy as he smiled to himself, ignoring what was still firm in his jeans and deciding to remain in that sitting position until it went away, a cigarette would take enough time for it to pass.

Murphy brought himself over with a single cigarette being lit by him and he puffed from it a few times before he handed it to Connor, who had reached a point where he looked forward to moisture from Murphy's lips on the filter.

So fucking twisted, he was rightfully ashamed of himself, not that it made a difference.

Connor smoked slowly, quietly, as Murphy hung up their rosaries at the side of the door, locked up and then undressed and only when his twin was laying down with his eyes closed and had his blanket slightly pulled over most of his partial nudity, did Connor uncurl from his hunched position and take his jeans off.

He doubted he'd get much more sleep than usual, but as time passed he was finding it easier to sleep off the twisted feelings he was having and while it was a bad thing, it was also good, because if he slept, then Murphy slept.

Connor switched off the light above his bed once he was lying down and he inhaled deeply and quietly.

Murphy did so as well right after him and Connor felt some relief in his own chest, because Murphy sounded and felt at ease.

* * *

><p><em>...Lord, can you hear me now?<em>  
><em> Or am I lost?<em>


	5. Chapter 4

**NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly. **

**Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale**

**Pairing: Twincest (Connor/Murphy)**

**Movie Verse:** **First Movie; Pre Canon - Canon / Canon Deviation**

**Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Connor and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.**

**Sub note: There is a deleted movie scene where the twins receive a call from their mother. That scene will be referenced in this chapter.**

**-Just a reminder that this story takes place **_**during **_**the Boondock Saints movie, if you have not seen the movie and are reading this it may not make sense to you.**

**-Some scenes from the movie will be retold from Connor's perspective.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<br>**

* * *

><p><em>I could pretend like nothing is wrong...<em>

_...if you teach me how to lie to an angel._

* * *

><p>Connor's St. Paddy's day had started out good, he hadn't dreamed the night before so he'd actually gotten a fair amount of sleep and morning mass had been inspiring and pleasant, if nothing else. The weather was decent too, not warm but not cold and the day at work had been going well.<p>

Especially since Murphy had been in an even better mood than the night before and even the slab of meat to the face that he thwacked Connor with unexpectedly –to all of their colleagues amusement- had been alright, because Murphy was horsing around with him again, laughing and joking. And so Connor assumed that whatever ice had built up between them had finally melted when he'd reminded Murphy that he loved him and had hugged him for just a minute.

Such a simple gesture that said I love you, need you, I'm sorry and forgive me all at once and Murphy had understood more from it than Connor had even realized he intended at the time.

So yes, it was all going swimmingly, right up until the point where that manly bitch had kicked him in the nuts.

Fuck, that had hurt, took the fucking wind right out of his sails.

And while Connor would never lay a hand on a woman –not that he could have in that painful moment no matter how badly he would have liked to-, he was appreciative that Murphy had punched her lights out.

Presently they were walking home in the early afternoon.

They had been fired…well, Murphy and the big manly bitch had and so by default, Connor had quit because where Murph went, he went. Murphy patted his shoulder and pushed him forward a bit as they walked crossed the bridge,

"Come on, walk et' off, Conn." He said sounding like he was trying to tease but his tone was too upset and Connor had seen it in his face just how angry Murphy had been when it happened, so he knew his twin wasn't happy about that woman assaulting him.

Connor didn't bother to respond and the rest of the walk back to the loft was painful and quiet, with Murphy either just beside him or a step behind him the entire time, a hand on his shoulder or between his shoulder blades every so often and while it didn't soothe the pain in his balls, it was a comfort.

* * *

><p>When they reached home and were undressing, Connor found the warmth from the sun shining into their loft all day to be a bit much, it was too stuffy and it made him feel worse, especially with the throbbing pain between his legs and the lingering anger of being given a nut shot for no fucking reason. He was sitting very still in his unfastened jeans after having taken his shirt and boots off when Murphy spoke up,<p>

"You should ice et', Connor…" he suggested earnestly.

Connor had been very briefly distracted by Murphy standing up and dropping his jeans after he'd kicked off his unlaced boots,

"Aye, I should, shouldn't I?" he said absently, tiredly and then grimaced as he stood up.

The idea of putting ice on his genitals was horrible but the pain was worse and Connor didn't want to walk around with swollen balls when they went out to McGinty's later, because that would hurt too.

Connor took his jeans off and tossed it onto his bed as he contemplated putting the ice pack over his boxer shorts but he didn't see that as being the best way to directly ice himself, plus It would get his shorts wet, so with a glance at Murphy…

….his twin was stark naked after taking his boxers off and was heading toward the showers…

…Connor looked away and shut his eyes as he took his shorts off and tossed them onto his bed as well, grimacing from emotional pain and the ache in his scrotum. He was bitterly grateful for the pain though, if only because it hurt too much for his arousal to manifest physically right then. After he took a moment to compose himself, Connor opened his eyes –keeping them specifically averted from Murphy- and he walked stiffly over to the fridge. He rummaged through the various junk they kept atop the fridge until he found what he could use to put a makeshift ice pack together, then he pulled the fridge open and filled the cloth and plastic he'd found with ice cubes, a frown on his face the entire time.

As a last thought he grabbed himself a can of beer, then shut the fridge and moved to sit on the tattered couch. Connor opened the beer, adjusted his hold on the items and took a deep breath to prepare himself as much as he could before he pressed the ice pack to his bare genitals. He hissed loudly when he did, leaning his head back on the couch as the cold bit through the two layers of cloth and plastic cover right to his skin. He stupidly glanced over at Murphy from that angle when he heard the click of a lighter and he got another eye full of Murphy's naked body as his twin lit up a cigarette while preparing to step into the shower.

Only Murphy smoked in the shower…

Connor took a deep breath and a deep gulp from the beer and then just kept his eyes averted, even more relieved that he had ice on his dick since there would be no erections happening in that state even if the pain wasn't enough to keep it at bay.

But he was already starting to feel irritable seconds later, because it was hard not to look at Murphy while he stood _naked_, smoking, gorgeous…so Connor was really relieved when the phone rang.

That was, until he answered it.

* * *

><p>Connor supposed that in retrospect, it was funny. Sort of.<p>

Their mother's twisted idea of wishing them a happy birthday slash St. Paddy's day was to prank them with a drunken _suicide call_, a rather convincing one too because the woman drank so much she could pretend to be drunk in her sleep.

Even hours later, Connor still shook his head just thinking about how convincingly she'd slurred and talked about shooting herself with their Da's gun. When he looked back on it though, it had served as a decent distraction from Murphy for him for a moment, especially since at the time, Murphy had vetoed the shower and put a towel around himself just when he had heard their mother's declaration of suicide restated through Connor's panicked voice;

_'__No, Ma, what are yeh' doin' with Da's gun?'_

_'__What the hell are yeh' doin'?' _

_'__Pull the trigger? Have yeh' lost et' woman!?'_

_'__Now get a hold of yerself…listen te' Connor now, I'm talking some sense!'_

_'__Now listen te' me, me an' Murph are right here!'_

_'__No, Ma, Ma! Jesus Christ!'_

It was no surprise that Murphy had been thrown into a panic listening to the one side of the conversation, hell, Connor had been hearing it first hand and he'd been freaking out and eventually they'd both been yelling at the phone for her to stop and listen and shouting 'no's' and curses of panic…

And when he'd been sure their mother had shot herself because a gun most definitely had gone off, Connor had lost all thought for their nudity as he'd dropped both the phone and the ice pack when he stood up in shock and fright.

And after they'd scrambled to the floor amidst scattered ice cubes for the phone and yelled down into the receiver for their mother to answer them, oh how she'd fucking laughed at them…before proceeding to have a conversation as if nothing had happened.

Which wasn't **fair** on Connor, because while on her side it'd been a practical joke, on their side it'd been him and Murphy lying naked on the floor, or at least he'd been completely naked, with their heads and shoulders pressed together and their ears to the phone between them, their skin touching. And of course, Murphy had felt comfortable enough to be so close to him when naked that he'd rested his elbow on Connor's back as he held the phone.

Connor had managed by sheer force of will, not to let the closeness get to him, he'd forced himself to focus on speaking and listening to their mother on the phone.

And in the end she had indirectly helped him when Murphy had asked her- as they did every year- which one of them had been born first, Connor had hoped their mother would finally tell them which of them came out first.

Initially all her response to the question accomplished was to make Connor feel self-conscious of his nudity next to Murphy all over again, by saying that the brother with the bigger cock came out first. But ultimately, hearing their mother talk about their cocks had been enough to put him off any sexual feelings at the time.

Honestly, their mother was a real piece of work. The entire situation had actually pissed Connor off and then Murphy had made it worse, he'd made the self-conscious feeling rear its head again, when after Connor had stood up, Murphy had remained laid out on the floor in his towel while sizing Connor up as if to say 'I have the bigger cock'.

Connor had promptly decided that he had had enough for one afternoon of nudity and being alone with his smirking sibling who had very nearly made him blush with that look.

Jesus Christ, Connor needed to catch a break, which he hoped to do at McGinty's that night.

* * *

><p>So the day had taken that second dip courtesy of their insane, evil mother's prank and then it had gotten good again. They'd cleaned up when the water heated up, dressed as they usually did, never completely identical but all of their clothes were similar enough, and then the twins had headed to the bar.<p>

The crowd was familiar that night, all friends and even if not all of them were Irish, it was St. Paddy's day for all who wanted to celebrate with them and the atmosphere was great. Murphy's mood was still good too, despite their bad morning at work and so Connor let himself go as well, deciding to enjoy himself there at the bar, where he wasn't alone with Murphy so his feelings couldn't run amuck, where they could just be like they were used to.

Brothers and friends.

God, how Connor missed it being that way when they were alone as well and he wondered if it would ever be the same again. He doubted it though, not unless he could get his mind right.

It was hard though, and it was only getting harder to clear his mind of those thoughts while it was becoming far easier to allow them in in the first place. For instance, as the night drew on at the bar Connor couldn't help noticing Murphy's demeanor and how attractive he was under the white light of the bar.

Wearing a slightly baggy sweater jersey, the same as Connor's except for the color, Murphy's black and Connor's brown, Connor noticed that it was just a bit wide around the neck line, exposing more skin there as well as Murphy's rosary beads and his tattoo…the ink contrasting his pale skin nicely. Connor also noticed how the heat in the bar sweated Murphy's skin and his hair, giving his skin a subtle shine and his hair a slick appearance. Connor watched many cigarettes touch those lips and those same lips dispel many perfect circular smoke rings. He watched Murphy greet friends of theirs with smiles and the more he drank the more he smiled. He watched Murphy do shots with Rocco and just once he'd watched stray drops of whiskey dribble down his twin's chin temptingly before Murphy had noticed and laughed while wiping it away with the back of his long sleeve.

Connor also endured a cheeky smile and a chin up from Murphy at some point when there'd been too many people between them at the bar. He watched women watch his brother with interest and attraction while he swallowed jealousy and ignored the looks he got from a few as well. Connor endured the few seconds when he and Murphy were talking about something side by side at the bar and Murphy had grabbed his shoulder roughly, holding on as he patted Connor's chest a few times with his other hand while he talked. Murphy had then laughed openly and unrestrained at something else that Rocco said to Doc as he leaned his weight on Connor, who laughed along and did his best to ignore any inappropriate feelings he had at the sight and sound of Murphy so care free and happy.

But even with all of those feelings Connor was dealing with, the night had been going so well, really.

When it got to be really late, the crowd eventually wound down to only a few choice patrons, including himself, Murphy and Rocco, sitting in a row at the bar and talking about various things as they had a few last drinks and smoked a few last cigarettes in the already warm and smoggy bar. Connor didn't know if Murphy noticed that he'd done his best all evening to keep people between them, especially after Rocco had showed up, but if he had, he didn't show it.

Rocco was strategically settled between the twins right then, by Connor's doing and he was feeling generally good about the way St. Paddy's had been celebrated, he knew Murphy had enjoyed himself and that meant a lot, especially since he had no idea how things would be between them tomorrow or next week…or even a year from then.

Well, there went the good feelings…

And as if on par with his slowly plummeting mood, Doc informed them that the bar was going to close down. It was really shitty news, but to Connor's surprise, when he glanced over at Murphy, his twin didn't seem too sad about it. Murphy had always been the one who got emotionally attached to shit, so he'd have expected more of a reaction, but Murphy just looked sorry for Doc…and really tired…and really tipsy.

Then again, they were all pretty buzzed, and everything would be more real and far worse in the morning.

But fuck the morning, shit went bad in ten seconds flat when the Russians walked in.

* * *

><p>Of all the bad judgment calls made when under the influence of alcohol, deciding to try reasoning with Russian Mafioso's was just not logical…and of course, beating the shit out of them when next they became hostile <strong>and then<strong> tying 'Ivan' the fucking asshole to the bar top and setting his ass on fire, literally…was probably over kill.

Fun…yes, definitely, but overkill…still, it had been **really **fun…

Murphy was still laughing about it as they staggered into the loft hours later, after Ivan had been untied and thrown out of the bar and after waiting for Doc to lock up safely and the rest of the guys had all left. Connor hadn't found it funny so much as deserved, also, beating the shit out of the Russians and torturing Ivan had been a hardcore stress reliever for him too, a lot of his tension had been shed during that fight. Connor felt a little lighter.

Murphy didn't appear to have any tension period, he had been relaxed at the bar and he still seemed it as he pulled his coat off and turned around to face Connor with a sway in his step and a stupid smile on his gorgeous face…and he was so adorable when he was tipsy, always sillier than usual and always smiling. He pulled his rosary up over his head and tossed it to Connor, who caught it just as he shut the door,

"That fuckin' Russian nearly ruined a perfectly good St. Paddy's, but weh' saved et'." Murphy commented with a hand gesture, his long sleeve hanging over his fingers as he pointed to the floor before rubbing the fingers of the same hand over his face and nose and then turning around again to rummage through his coat for his smokes.

But he'd dropped his coat on his bed, so he fell over when he bent down and ended up half lying, half sitting on the bed as he searched for his cigarettes and lighter.

Connor just watched, amused, transfixed, adoring…_enamored,_ with his own brother and not sober enough to care too much about right and wrong feelings just then. As Murphy lit up, Connor hung up their rosaries and locked the door with a lazy smile on his face and as he went about removing his own coat he glanced over to watch Murphy place a smoke between his smiling lips as he lay down on his back and stretched out.

Connor continued to smile to himself, deciding to fill the silence,

"Yeh' think it was a good St. Paddy's Murph, did yeh' ferget we lost our jobs today?" he reminded as he watched Murphy take a long drag from the cigarette, relaxing with his legs off the bed and bent up, shirt riding up so his stomach was partially visible and one arm laying above his head while the other rested on his chest holding his smoke.

A memorable sight, it made Connor feel crazy with all kinds of wrong and too good feelings.

"Aye, an' we thought Ma shot herself **an'** yeh' got kicked in the nuts…" Murphy added with a look in Connor's general direction that was far from sympathetic, "…but et' was fuckin' good anyway, Conn, don't yeh' feel good?"

Connor thought about it as he approached their mattresses, stopping to stand near Murphy's legs for a few seconds before he shrugged,

"Aye, I do…" and it was true, he felt pretty good, their heads would hurt like a bitch in the morning but it wasn't like they had to go to work.

"Yes!" Murphy said loudly, raising his cigarette into the air before bringing it back down and looking at it a bit too closely. When he blew at the collected ash so it flitted into the air, Connor snorted softly at his near drunk twin and then he turned to walk a step away and sit on his own bed.

But Murphy had other ideas and when he grabbed the back of Connor's jeans waist and wrapped one arm around his thigh to bring him down, Connor was too tipsy to fight for balance and he landed face first on his own unmade bed with a heavy flump. He rolled himself over relatively fast with a curse on the tip of his tongue, but Murphy was up just as quickly, kneeling over Connor with a victorious smirk as he looked down at him.

When Connor didn't make a move to wrestle, Murphy sat back on Connor's stomach and spoke animatedly,

"Those fuckin' Russian fuckers thought they were gonna' run Doc out of his bar, Conn and we fuckin' stopped them!" he continued to speak loudly while all Connor could do was try to breathe and not react in an inappropriate physical way to his twin's closeness.

Connor was laid out more than halfway on the bed with Murphy sitting on him, his twin's expression lazy and amused, smoke drifting around as he moved his hand,

"Did yeh' see how Ivan squirmed when yeh' set his arse on fire? That fat fuck…" he paused to take a drag from the smoke while still smiling, "…I think I wasted two good bottles of Doc's wine though, when I hit that one guy…" Murphy imitated –sloppily- the action Connor assumed was him breaking bottles on someone's head.

Murphy had always been like this, since they were young boys getting into scraps, afterward he'd be bright eyed and giddy and he'd want to talk about it, he **loved** it, it was as if he came alive in a different way when he was in a fight or in any kind of danger.

Connor managed a tight laugh, hoping his twin was drunk enough that he wouldn't notice how nervous Connor was beneath him, never before had being tackled or wrestling with Murphy made him uncomfortable, but with his latest feelings, it all felt like he was crossing boundaries.

"Murph, could yeh' get off me d'yeh' think, yer' fuckin heavy an' yer' drunk." He said as pleasantly as he could.

Murphy contemplated their situation with a puff on his smoke and a raised eyebrow and then he smiled lopsidedly and nodded,

"Aye, I think I am drunk…" he snickered, tipping forward, making Connor tense just before Murphy balanced himself on his free hand and then he rolled off to the side and flopped onto his back beside Connor, also lying partially on and off the mattresses, "…t'was that last pint o' beer that did et'." Murphy informed, one eye narrowed, smirking and waggling his cigarette at the ceiling as he spoke and his accent always sounded much thicker when he was drunk.

"Oh really, was et' not the five shots of whiskey yeh' had before that, then?" Connor joked as he pushed himself to sit up, not wanting to lay there next to Murphy, who was so pliant and smiling, smelling like the wine that was in his hair and on his clothes and he was always very touchy when he'd imbibed too much liquor, Connor was wary.

Murphy made a face of agreement and Connor moved to get up after quickly and lightly shoving Murphy's swaying bent up knee that drifted nearest to him,

"I'm goin' te' sleep, Murph, so best yeh' be getting back into yer' own bed te' do the same." He said as he stood and started to undress, not looking at Murphy, even when his twin sighed quietly.

Minutes later when he was lying in bed with his back to Murphy he heard his twin mumble, 'Night, Connor.'

He didn't respond, choosing to pretend to be asleep…even if Murphy probably knew he wasn't.

And Connor doubted he would manage any sleep, since he'd be wondering all night what the new morning would bring for their relationship as brothers, with the depth of his sin weighing heavily on his conscience.

* * *

><p><strong>It had been a white hot panicked blur.<strong>

* * *

><p>Connor sat up in bed that new morning, having pulled his ratty robe on cause the weather had turned cooler as morning crawled in. He knew it was probably before six AM, he'd barely slept at all and he could feel it in his head and bones just how tired he was.<p>

He felt sticky from sweating alcohol and from his restless sleep, his eyes were sandy, his body was sore and his life had less direction than before without even a day job to go to, all he had anymore was Murphy and he was doing a great job of fucking that up. Connor was still putting himself together where he sat when Murphy sat up quickly, rubbing at his morning sleepy eyes, hands habitually running over his face before he glanced around their loft looking as groggy and as head sore as Connor felt.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, as they usually did after waking up, Connor always felt it was their way of syncing up their minds and feelings before heading out for the day, it was just the way things had always been between them.

And it never failed, because after a beat they both reached for their boots at the foot of the mattresses and they pulled them on. Connor knew they both knew it was best to get up and head out to look for work…but only later would it occur to him that the action of pulling their boots on first was odd, and yet, _instinctually_ it had been the first thing they mutually did, as if they'd known something…without actually knowing it…

He only half laced his boots before Connor gave up to rest his head on his arms, on his knees. Murphy reached for his own old, discolored robe after half tying his boots and he was pulling it on…when the first shock came.

Their door was broken in with a jarring slam and crack, the entire flimsy piece of wood went flying right off the hinges to land noisily on the ground from the force of a six-foot-something Russian's kick.

Connor got his feet underneath him first and turned around but barely had time to register what was happening in his tired state when the shouting, hulking, vaguely familiar Russians from the bar fight the night before walked up to them. Connor subconsciously stepped in front of Murphy, frowning in hung over confusion, but before he could say anything he was hit in the head with the butt of a gun.

His head instantly spun and ached, his vision blurred and the Russian's shouting only made it worse.

Connor was aware of being shoved roughly, stumbling and then he landed heavily on his knees and he heard the Russian yell at him to _cuff himself_. He didn't immediately do it, for one thing he didn't have cuffs and for another more important thing, where was Murphy?

When handcuffs were locked onto the wrist of his left hand Connor's focus returned and he realized with a rush of breath just what the fuck was happening, he also realized there was a gun to the back of his head and he was being told to cuff himself to the back of the toilet.

The Russian, Ivan, kept yelling for him to cuff himself so Connor did, because when he glanced to the side he spotted Murphy being held up at gun point as well with a pissed off, worried look on his face and Connor didn't want to get his brother shot just because he wouldn't listen.

Ivan reached down and checked that the cuffs were fastened and then he grabbed the back of Connor's robe and shoved him close to the toilet bowl as he spoke in his broken English, and Connor listened, because Murphy was right there with a gun to his head, watching him, their breathing both slightly increased.

"You know why I fucking come here?" Ivan asked and Connor pulled on the handcuffs discreetly, sober as was physically possible right then, "I come here to _keel_ you, but now," Ivan went on, shoving Connor again, "I don't think I fucking _keel_ you," his words instantly got Connor's adrenalin pumping because he knew where that sentence was going, "I _keel_, your brother, I shoot him in the head." He finished with his hot, stinking breath on the back of Connor's neck.

His words were like a hot poker in Connor's chest, **white hot panic**.

And then Ivan moved away and Connor swore loudly, his mind racing as he yanked on the cuffs and watched over his shoulder as fat Ivan waddled over to Murphy.

"MURPH!" Connor shouted raspily and desperate, panic and more panic flooding his system and his eyes were wide and his breathing rapid now.

God, help him, he couldn't let them kill Murphy, he couldn't **lose** his brother.

"CONNOR!" He heard Murphy shout as the Russians yanked him up and pulled him away and Connor's panic was starting to bleed into his ears and mind as he watched them drag his brother away and Murphy was saying something but he didn't hear it, all he could do was **see** right then.

He could **see** them shoving Murphy toward the door between their hulking forms and when Murphy turned his head around to look at Connor…what Connor saw in his twin's blue, blue eyes made all sense and caution leave his body to be replaced by _pure_ adrenalin. Murphy looked _resigned _to be taken to his execution -**Is breá liom tú, deartháir… **(I love you, brother) And _penitent_ as if it were his fault they were in that situation -**Logh dom…** (Forgive me)

And that look in Murphy's gorgeous blue eyes flashed through Connor's mind as being identical to those last moments in the dream/nightmare he'd had so many weeks ago where Murphy had died right in front of him and all of his focus had been in his eyes as he had tried to stay with Connor for as long as he could.

Connor didn't even hear himself scream Murphy's name.

The noise in his mind and blood rushing in his ears from the joint adrenalin and panic he and Murphy were sharing was cacophonous, he just **lost** it.

He only knew one thing.

Murphy was not going to die, he would **not **let it happen.

He absently prayed in his mind for God to give him the strength to save his brother as he screamed and struggled violently to dislodge the toilet, his wrists were bleeding as he fought to get his hands free…so he could get to Murphy. Connor had to save his one and only and most important, his beloved, his **brother**, and as their rosaries swayed on the wall across the loft…

...Connor found the strength.

* * *

><p>Connor came to with light slapping to his cheek and he immediately registered sharp pains shooting through his right leg, his back and into his head and he grimaced deeply, squeezing his eyes shut.<p>

"…-onner, wake up, Connor?" it was Murphy's voice and the slapping hand was now holding his face, two hands were holding his face, cold fingers pressing into the point where his pulse could be felt and then they were feeling over his jaw and collar bone, "Connor, can yeh' hear me?" he sounded breathless and worried and very quiet.

Connor forced himself to open his eyes even though it hurt to, the side of his head and face throbbed and felt cold and wet,  
>"Mur…Murph?" he heard himself rasp out.<p>

"Jesus Christ…" Murphy breathed out, "…**thank you** Lord," Connor felt his head carefully cradled in Murphy's hands, "Connor, Conn, look at me." He instructed in a gentle voice.

Connor's vision took a few seconds to focus but when it did he found himself in what looked like an alley, he was propped up against a wall, wearing nothing but his boxers and the robe he'd put on that morning, as was Murphy, from when they'd just woken up…right before…

Oh shit.

"Murph, are yeh' okay?" Connor lurched forward as everything flooded back in memory, his hands reaching out to feel over anywhere he could reach on his twin.

Murphy grabbed his shoulder and held the back of his head as he knelt over Connor's legs on the cold hard concrete and he gently pressed Connor back to rest against wall,

"Calm down, I'm fine yeh' crazy bastard…" it was said with so much fondness Connor had to smile, "…yer' lucky you aren't fuckin' dead." That was said with a hint of fear and Connor blinked his sibling's pale, sweaty face into proper focus.

Connor felt relief wash over him and he smiled at the sight, Murphy was fine, aside from a small cut above his right eye that he had from the bar fight the previous night, he was just fine, more than fine…

He was **alive**.

Connor grimaced after a moment of staring at Murphy when the pain in his body made itself known again,

"We haf'te' get yeh' to the hospital Connor, I couldn't carry yeh', et's too far. I needed yeh' awake so I can call a cab." Murphy explained quietly, even though they were in an empty, unfamiliar alley.

"Where are we?" Connor asked as he raised a hand to try and rub his head, only to find the other hand came with it, along with a sharp sting where his wrists were bleeding from the still attached handcuffs.

Oh right. That happened.

"We're a few blocks from home, had te' get us away in case the police showed up." Murphy answered with a raise of his right eyebrow, as if it were obvious. Connor nodded then, thinking over just how far the nearest public hospital was, at least a couple of miles away, probably more so Murphy would not have been able to carry him, especially not in the state they appeared.

Still, Connor had to wonder,

"Murph, we don't have money fer' a cab, let alone the hospital…" he grimaced again as pain moved through his leg. It didn't feel like it was a break or anything though, so he was sure it was just a sprain or superficial injury.

"Aye, we do…" Murphy said and –still kneeling as if it didn't hurt- he leaned over to the green paper bag that had been just beside Connor and he reached inside, glancing around before pulling out a thick roll of cash with a smirk on his lips.

Connor frowned in amazement before he raised a hand and tried to take it but Murphy pulled it away and dropped it back in the bag,

"Don't get blood on et', we have te' use et'." He said logically and Connor looked at his blood stained hands- due to his bleeding wrists- while nodding in agreement, "I'm gonna' call a cab across the street, I'll be back in a minute, alright?" Murphy asked, still looking slightly worried.

Connor just nodded again, trusting Murphy to get him to the hospital, and he leaned back against the wall to rest his sore body after Murphy disappeared around the corner at the end of the alley.

* * *

><p>Going from the alley to the hospital and finally to the police station left Connor exhausted, he was glad he'd at least gotten to eat something during their questioning by Smecker, because he'd been seriously fucking hungry. Murphy hadn't eaten though and while it had concerned Connor, he wasn't in the habit of nagging his twin with stupid motherly shit like that. If Murphy was hungry, he'd find something to eat.<p>

True enough, after they'd sorted out their story with the police and had been given the okay to spend the night at the station, Murphy had taken some of the money they'd kept on them and he'd raided the station's vending machine. They dined on various potato and corn chips with Pepsi's that night, where they were set up in a holding cell furthest in the back of the police station and it was surprisingly quiet, also the unevenly plastered walls and cracks in the ceiling sort of reminded Connor of their loft.

He pointed it out to Murphy and that earned him a snort and snicker that turned into a laugh. Connor soaked it up.

Feeling as generally shitty as he did with a head wound and a pulled leg muscle, he was feeding straight off Murphy's energy and he knew it was affecting his twin, Murphy looked tired, he looked unsettled, much like Connor felt.

But they were together and alive, and so Murphy gave his strength unbidden, in any form Connor needed, even if it was just comfortable, exhausted silence between them.

* * *

><p>That night when the police station holding cells were in darkness and the place was as silent as a grave all the way in the back, Connor lay awake in the strangely comfortable cell bed more than a meter away from Murphy, because the cell beds were bolted to the floor and couldn't be moved.<p>

He let his mind drift back to that morning, to his adrenalin driven feat of strength, to his mind blurring fear and anger and to the look on Murphy's face that had revealed that his twin was prepared to die without a fight if it meant Connor would live. But even if the Russians hadn't doubled back up to shoot him, Connor would have been dead…he would have killed himself, just as he had in his dream.

He sighed quietly and rolled his head to the side to look at Murphy, his twin's eyes were closed and his breathing was even but Connor didn't know if he was actually asleep, although he looked it and he _felt_ relaxed. Murphy was probably really exhausted after the day they'd had, so much so that the noise in Connor's head wouldn't even keep him awake, Connor was glad.

His eyes slowly trailed over Murphy, his twin was asleep on his back, both of them almost always did or ended up that way in their sleep. Murphy was shirtless, his rosary lay on his chest, the beads of the chain dipping and rising with the contours of his torso right down to the cross which rested on Murphy's lightly muscled abdomen. He had his boots and jeans on, as did Connor and above their heads were their rolled up coats.

Rocco had brought their coats and other essentials to the precinct earlier.

Connor's gaze lingered and roamed over his twin, Murphy was seemingly asleep and they'd nearly died that morning, so he allowed himself this sin, the sin of coveting his own brother, in soul and mind and flesh…

That morning…Connor remembered praying, screaming in his mind for God to give him the strength to save his brother and he'd been granted the strength, he'd ripped the toilet from its piping and placement in the solid concrete,

_'__Despite my abominable sins toward Murphy in my thoughts…God granted me strength,'_ he averted his gaze back to the ceiling, _'he hasn't forsaken me my chance to repent.'_ Connor raised a hand and brought it to rub at one of his bandaged wrists and he alternated after a moment before he held his cross in the palm of his hand, maybe this was his chance to ask God personally for forgiveness.

He fingered his cross as he listened to Murphy's even breathing and thought of how he'd wanted some time alone with Murphy in all the hustle after that morning, to ask if he was really alright, to talk about what had happened, every fine detail, but in the end they hadn't talked about it.

He felt like they needed to though, because Connor had come so close to losing Murphy it had jarred something within him, driven him to a point beyond his control.

As he lay awake he also thought of the dream that had set him on the path of sinful thought, the one in which Murphy had been dying and how the pain of the impending loss and the desperation had driven him to…to kiss Murphy.

In that dream moment it was as if it had been something Connor had felt he'd be losing if he never took it, as if it was a deep desire he'd only acted on because in a moment they'd have both been dead and in that moment heaven and hell were inconsequential, it had just been blood and pain and death and Murphy and that kiss, that step into thoughts about incest and desire.

Connor frowned to himself, thinking of the desperation that had filled him that morning as the Russians had dragged Murphy from the loft. It hadn't been the same personal –almost intimate- scenario as the dream, he hadn't been holding his brother's dying body with blood squelching from a wound through his fingers and Murphy's labored breathing shallowly felt against his face.

So there had not been time to consider it, a kiss…a moment of taboo, sinful incest.

But the feeling, the desperation, the fear, the _need_…the knowledge that if Murphy died, he would follow, that had been real and it had been identical to the dream and it scared him all the more because he realized just how possible it was for Murphy, or even himself, to die in any way, at any time…

So…should he take that chance…?

_'__No…no, fuck…'_ he told himself as he squeezed the cross in his hand so tightly it hurt.

He couldn't cross that line, he couldn't tell himself it was right or okay…but he wanted to.

Damn it.

Connor swallowed thickly and told himself something that would solidify his resolve,

_'__Murphy would never forgive me.'_ And that was enough to make him stop clutching the cross and to relax enough to try and rest.

Connor fell asleep having completely forgotten to ask God for forgiveness.

* * *

><p>Waking up with a feeling so fulfilling, surreal and overwhelming singing through his veins had scared Connor for a few seconds before it became clear and words and thoughts and understanding came together in his mind. He'd turned to Murphy in that moment after he'd sat up in the cell bunk and he'd seen his twin in the same state, blue eyes clear and sure. The words that had reverberated in their minds were simple and direct.<p>

_Destroy all that which is evil._

_So that which is good may flourish._

The message…the **command,** had been blatant and divine and both he and Murphy had heard and felt it, they'd felt Him, if only for a few seconds in waking, he'd been a presence neither could deny.


	6. Chapter 5

**NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly. **

**Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale**

**Movie Verse:** **First Movie; Pre Canon - Canon / Canon Deviation**

**Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Conner and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.**

**Sub note: Conner and Murphy's full names were printed in the newspaper 'Boston Herald', it is visible in the movie during the scene in the police station.**

**-I did my best to accurately depict Boston directions, however I only have maps to reference, please excuse any discrepancies.**

**- I have no idea what whiskey tastes like, no offense intended to Canadians.**

**NB: On AO3 this story is uploaded with additional images**

* * *

><p>Chapter Five<p>

* * *

><p><em>You could hold the secrets that save<em>  
><em> Me from myself<em>...

* * *

><p>Everything fell into place almost too perfectly after they'd woken again hours later in the cell that morning, sharing their customary look in which they affirmed that they were on the same page, that they were both sure about what that dream had been about and what they had to do. And right after that the Russian's pager beeped, the one which Murphy had forgotten in his robe pocket when they'd given Doc the green package to hold for them at the hospital, and ten minutes later they had a new purpose, they had a <em>target<em>.

There would be a meeting of mafia, of evil men.

Connor sniffed, he was staring at the plastic table top cover as he stirred sugar into his cup of coffee, sitting across from Murphy in a small coffee shop in South Boston, their empty late breakfast plates were piled atop each other at the open end of the small booth waiting to be collected. They'd been home straight after leaving the police station just to pack up their meager portable belongings. They wouldn't be returning there since they'd almost certainly be targets for the Russian mob after what had happened.

Even without the press writing about the 'Saints' and printing their names in the newspaper, news on the street of exactly where the fat bastard Ivan had been found dead and which pub he'd been to the night before would lead the mafia straight to the twins, and Doc.

"We have te' do et' soon an' proper, Connor…they'll be goin' after Doc." Murphy said quietly and Connor raised his eyes, their minds naturally in sync. Murphy had one hand around the base of his coffee mug, elbows on the table and eyes dead on Connor's own blue as he flicked his thumb down and up over the filter of his half smoked cigarette held in his other hand.

Connor nodded and looked down,

"Aye, I know…" he responded as he slipped a cigarette from Murphy's pack on the table. He didn't have to reach for his lighter because Murphy raised his own and flicked it on, their eyes meeting again and Connor noticed that orange flecks were just slightly visible in Murphy's iris' due to the overcast weather and dimness of the coffee shop.

Connor averted his gaze from his twin's eyes; he had to put his wandering, confusing –and persistent- thoughts and feelings about Murphy aside for the time being.

So he focused his mind,

"I know where te' find them, the Russians." He said quietly after inhaling from the cigarette to get it burning, smoke seeping out of his mouth with every word before he picked his coffee up and sipped from it.

Murphy frowned,

"How?" he asked before smoking as well, eyes darting from Connor to the ashtray between them and then around the shop.

"The pager." Connor said with a 'duh' expression on his face and Murphy took a few seconds to catch up, his eyes narrowed briefly,

"You called the number." He stated and Connor nodded as he exhaled smoke through his nose and the small 'o' shape of his lips. He watched Murphy consider when Connor would have had a chance away from him to make a phone call and then his eyebrow twitched up, "At the station…" he picked his coffee up and finished it off.

"Aye, are yeh' caught up now, Murph?" Connor made an attempt at teasing his sibling.

Murphy just gave him a dead pan look before finishing off his cigarette and Connor didn't speak right away because their young gum chewing waitress came by all smiles and flirting with her eyes in Connor's direction just then,

"Anything else, guys?"

Connor spared her a smile and was going to be nice but Murphy gave her a side long look and answered for him,

"No, thanks." In a flat tone that implied she should move on.

The girl looked a bit annoyed but Connor decided to follow his brother's lead, the vow aside, they had important things to talk about, so he turned his full attention to his twin and the girl didn't have a reason to stand there looking offended without their attention on her, so she walked away.

"Yeh' don't have te' be so rude, Murph." Connor said with a smirk, tapping ash off his smoke into the ashtray while Murphy lit up a new one, his eyes settling sharply on Connor through the coils of rising smoke. Murphy took the cigarette from between his lips to speak as he shrugged,

"If yeh' want te' flirt then do et' in yer' own time, Connor." He said quietly, scratching the side of his neck before rubbing his fingers over his lips and fidgeting with his cigarette,

"Not this shit again Murph, we've been over this." Connor frowned lightly.

"Where are the Russian's gonna be, Connor?" Murphy deflected after a short sigh as he rubbed the heel of his hand into one eye.

Connor clenched his jaw as he rubbed at his left bandaged wrist with the available fingers on his current smoking hand, before he made a fist with his free hand, eyes squinting slightly against his cigarette smoke,

"The Copley Plaza Hotel, Presidential Suite…" he remembered and then he shifted and reached into his coat pocket on the seat beside him to take out the small slip of paper he'd written it on, glancing at it before flicking it at Murphy, "…room 701-…"

"Tonight, nine PM." Murphy finished as he read.

"Aye." Connor said, noticing the light of excitement seeping into Murphy's eyes as he responded,

"So we need te' get our stuff from Doc an' tell him te' close the bar fer' a day or two…"

"….then we'll need te' find a man fer' weapons…" Connor added quietly and Murphy nodded,

"…an' trade him the shit I took off the Russian's fer' whatever we need." He said just as quietly.

Connor thought it over for a few seconds and then raised an eyebrow, pointing the fingers in which he held his cigarette at Murphy,

"There was that guy, remember-…"

"Aye, the one that Riley mentioned." Murphy nodded slowly.

Connor nodded too, his and Murphy's eyes focused on each other as they planned together,

"Et's been a while though."

"Over a year…" Murphy agreed, "…but we should still check et' out."

Connor nodded again, finishing his cigarette,

"But do yeh' think Riley was telling us the truth, Murph?" he questioned.

Murphy bobbed his eyebrows, smirking,  
>"Of course, he was drunk, Connor, a <em>sober<em> man doesn't talk about the whereabouts an' details of an illegal **arms** dealer." He tapped his temple lightly, "That's just not smart."

Connor raised an eyebrow and glanced at the cherry of his burning cigarette filter,

"Mind you, haven't seen Riley around in a while, have we?"

They took a moment to contemplate what that could mean for the poor drunken, loose lipped sod they'd only met a few times at McGinty's and then with a brief glance at each other they crossed themselves before mumbling a prayer, identical but unheard, for the possible fate of the man, before they went back to smoking and thinking about the task ahead.

"We need a place te' stay tonight, after..." Murphy said, scratching around the edge of the plaster stuck above his right eye with his thumb nail, before he brought his cigarette down and took two drags to finish it.

"We can stay in a motel fer' tonight, we'll leave our stuff wit' Doc while we're on the job an' fetch it after." Connor decided.

Murphy stared at him for a few seconds before responding by blowing a smoke ring toward Connor's face and the latter couldn't help watching his brother's mouth make that 'O' shape, his head filling with _filth_ that made him reach across the table and smack the side of Murphy's head firmly, making his twin flinch, curse and snicker,

"Would yeh' fuckin' stop, Jesus fuckin' Christ, be serious would yeh'." he said firmly, inwardly freaking out.

"Lord's name, Connor." Murphy mock scolded with a pointed finger and smirk, Connor gave him a 'shut up' expression,

"Fuck off, Murphy." He said with a grimace of disgust at the involuntarily warmth of arousal coursing through his body right then.

He was sure those mental images had pretty much sealed the deal for him to go to hell.

But where the fuck did they even come from? Connor wasn't gay, when he had been fucking, he'd been fucking women. Not that he'd tried anything else in order to say for sure he wasn't queer or inclined both ways, but he hadn't ever considered it or felt like he wanted to.

So how could he even formulate such a dirty image of his –male- twin giving him head and be so turned on by it?

It was so fucking wrong for so many reasons.

But Jesus Christ, it burned a hot line of arousal through him like he'd never known - straight to his cock.

Connor lit up a smoke quickly, Murphy was watching him, and he hoped his twin didn't notice the subtle shake in his hands, or if he did, that he would mistake it for nerves over what they had to do that night, better that.

Connor refocused his thoughts –with some effort- as he smoked, he was confused as all hell about the events unraveling. He knew he wasn't losing his mind about God coming to him in his sleep because it happened to Murphy simultaneously, so either they were both crazy or it was real, or they were both crazy…shit.

But it'd felt real, that _presence_.

So then, if God wanted Connor as his hand to carry out judgment, to destroy that which is evil, did that mean he didn't think Connor was a filthy heathen for his mental sins against his own blood kin?

How was Connor supposed to interpret it?

He was absently fidgeting, smoking and rubbing his forehead, his bandaged wrists, fiddling with his half empty coffee mug. His mind was racing over whether he should take this duty bestowed upon himself and Murphy as a sign to stay true to God, to just do his will, or additionally, to take it as a sign that God was okay with how he felt about Murphy.

He cursed himself mentally, because that just wasn't sensible.

He knew he was letting what he wanted get in the way of what he knew was right.

Desire was such a powerful thing. He'd never known…

"So what's the plan te' get in?" Murphy broke the silence after lighting yet another cigarette, his easy demeanor was gone and Connor knew he was responsible for the change, since his own mood had shifted drastically.

Connor sighed, pressed his thumbs into his eyes and then sat back to look at Murphy as he ashed his cigarette and prepared to relay the plan he'd thought up just after they'd left the police station,

"I say we go up in the service lift, an' then we stop et' on emergency an' climb up out of the top…" Murphy was glaring at him, "…an' there's sure te' be a ventilation shaft, so we climb in et' above the right floor an'…Murph?" Connor frowned at Murphy who was shaking his head, before said twin grabbed his coat, his bag containing clothes and other meager personals and he stood up and walked away, out of the shop.

Connor shifted to get the money that Murphy had handed over to him earlier out of his back pocket, then he got up, dropped some money on the table for the bill and grabbed his stuff to follow his twin.

Outside, standing on the curb, Murphy was still smoking his cigarette while waiting with an annoyed look on his face and Connor walked right up to him, shouldering his bag and shoving Murphy lightly,

"The fuck is yer' problem, I was talking to yeh'." He said grouchily.

Murphy scoffed smoke into his face,

"You were talking shit, Connor, this is not a fuckin' movie." He shoved Connor back lightly by his shoulder.

Passersby were glancing at them so Connor switched languages,

"Nach bhfuil muinín agat dom, Murphy?"(Don't you trust me, Murphy?) more often than not when they spoke to each other in a different language it was their native tongue, the only time they chose other languages was when they were in Irish company and wanted to talk privately, English also not being an option then.

Murphy looked at him as if he hated that question because it was a tactic to get Murphy to do what Connor wanted,

"Ná tús, Connor, d'fhéadfá a fháil dúinn maraíodh le do chuid smaointe scannán dúr." (Don't start, Connor, you could get us killed with your stupid movie ideas.) Murphy said irritably, shifting his feet and pointing his fingers and cigarette at Connor accusingly.

Connor feigned offense, raising his arms and the cool wind in the streets pressed his shirt to his body as he held them up,

"D'yeh' really believe that?" he said in his best incredulous pitchy tone, "You believe I'd be planning something that would put yeh' at risk? My own brother?" "Don't do that, don't try te' make me feel like an asshole so you can get yer' fuckin way, Connor." Murphy said in a quieter voice, looking more and more annoyed.

Connor found he loved the way Murphy's mouth looked in that scrunched pout, his chin jutting out just a bit and his brow creased lightly and he grinned at his twin to hide a sappy smile, "Well, if yeh've got a better idea, Murph, I'm all ears." He said knowingly. Murphy was all about action, not strategy. Murphy shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing and then he went to say something, paused, smoked, flicked his filter into the street uncaring of any passerby's opinion and finally he pointed into Connor's chest, "There better be a fuckin' ventilation shaft."

Connor just grinned wider at the empty threat and Murphy just scowled before said twin grabbed Connor's shoulder and shoved him, "Let's go." Murphy huffed. And so they went, making their way back to their Irish neighborhood to see Doc about retrieving their stolen goods. And Connor said a personal prayer of thanks to God for his brother's love and trust as he so often did.

* * *

><p>The day felt too short, Connor and Murphy had headed back to their neighborhood on foot, so they could save and hand over whatever cash they had left to the arms dealer they'd be going to find later.<p>

They stopped in at Doc's and got an update that the cops hadn't come back to ask any more questions before they retrieved the stolen goods and left their personals with Doc to collect later. They only took a single bag to carry a change of shirts for them, two matching black turtlenecks, and then they headed out on foot again to where they remembered being told they could find a trustworthy Irish arms dealer who lived near the docks.

The walk wasn't too far and the guy, who was ordinary looking, didn't seem surprised to find them on his doorstep saying they'd heard about him through a friend, it was as if taking one look at them had made him invite them in and then down into a dark basement that appeared pretty small…but wasn't.

The twins had left the dealer a little while later feeling excited, locked and loaded, both of their moods had improved. Their brotherly teasing had lightened the atmosphere between them, Murphy for his Rambo knife and Connor for his rope, both of which items were packed in the dealer provided black duffel bags, along with their boxes of bullets, leather gloves, balaclavas, gun holsters and their matching sets of suppressed Beretta 92FS pistols. They hadn't even needed to consider it before they'd apparently grabbed the same guns, only realizing it afterward when they were double checking before leaving the dealer.

Their synchronicity was something Connor relied on and reveled in inwardly and since Murphy had looked discreetly pleased as well, he knew his twin relied on it too. They were two people, two individuals, but connected in spirit and soul when it counted, having a shared mind when it was needed.

After being to the arms dealer and changing their clothes, they were ready, as much as they could be for their first execution slash soul deliverance and it was coming up on seven PM, leaving them little time to make the walk back into Back Bay East to the Copley Plaza.

So they walked briskly, side by side, gaits even, strides steady, no talking, just thinking, or at least Connor was.

They passed by a few churches and Connor didn't feel compelled to see the insides of them. A part of him wanted to pray before the job, pray for Murphy and himself, but somehow God felt closer now, as if this duty, this new way of their lives was between them and Him and visiting a church wouldn't mean as much as standing or kneeling beside Murphy in private to pray.

Thinking that contradicted all his thoughts about not being left alone too long with his brother, and the situation being as confusing as it was left him wondering if God wanted him closer to his brother in faith, while testing his strength against temptation…

…the temptation to kiss and touch Murphy.

But those thoughts had no place in his mind, especially at that time and as soon as they entered the service lift of the Copley Plaza Hotel he set his mind to their task and he and Murphy shared brief silence in the lift, syncing their minds and their breathing before verbally confirming they were both ready, –nervous- but ready.

Ready to be executioners for God.

* * *

><p>Rocco showing up at the hotel room after the execution had been an unexpected surprise.<p>

But it'd worked out fine, since they'd incidentally saved Rocco's life, as well as got a lift back to South Boston to pick up their belongings from Doc and were offered to stay with Rocco that night, all in one fell swoop. Plus, the execution had gone –accidentally- perfectly. The rope and the knife had come in handy and the twins had proved to themselves that their years spent growing up with a keen interest in guns had paid off. Also the experience using firearms they'd garnered from friends and relatives growing up in Ireland and in Boston through the years had proved invaluable.

It felt as though they'd ascended in some way, he and Murphy. At least that's how it felt to Connor.

Standing with his brother, saying a family prayer and taking an evil man from the world side by side had not only been thrilling and life changing, but it had been emotional and personal.

Praying for those men, delivering them to God….it had been beautiful.

And Murphy had been beautiful, his eyes had been filled with life and truth and justice and love when they'd looked at one another afterward, for a few seconds, leveling with one another.

Connor didn't think he'd change a thing about their first time delivering souls together.

Even the twisted and at times obscene attraction he'd felt for Murphy during - especially when seeing his twin holding his guns with confident determination - did not take away from the beauty and fulfillment of the experience. And the gorgeous sight of his twin's eyes burning with righteousness and holiness would be forever a memory held fond.

So overall Connor had been in good spirits.

Rocco accidently shooting the cat had been another unexpected surprise, an unpleasant one that left behind a stench and would leave a stain on that wall forever.

Connor was pissed off over it, but for a serious reason, even after Rocco apologized profusely in drunken rushes of words, because the poor cat aside,** Murphy** had been on that end of the table, just about a foot away from where the gun went off and Connor would have put a bullet straight through Rocco's head if Murphy had been killed by his idiocy.

But he didn't tell Rocco that last bit, he kept that violent vengeful thought to himself and he just shoved Rocco away from him as the man said his useless apologies. Connor tried to calm himself down, he grabbed the bottle of Wiser's whiskey they'd been drinking all night and headed into the lounge, watching absently as Murphy pushed Rocco toward the kitchen, telling him to give them a minute to talk.

When Rocco left the lounge Murphy glanced after him a final quick time before he came over to where Connor stood at the open windows with the thin blinds pulled up. Connor was sitting against the sill, his back to the window, and he held the whiskey bottle so it balanced on his left leg which he was bouncing slightly in agitation, sloshing the liquid inside around.

Murphy stood just in front of him, a cigarette in one hand and with the other he reached out and hit the side of Connor's head lightly,

"Eh, I'm fine, yer' fine, Rocco's fine…" he said with a small lopsided and partially tipsy smile, they'd been drinking since eleven PM and it was about three AM presently, "…the cat though, sa' shame." Murphy said as he placed his slowly burning cigarette between his lips and left it there, rubbing the side of his neck absently.

Connor watched every movement fondly even as he tried to control his anger,

"Aye, we are, but we mightn't have been Murphy, the fuckin' moron coulda'…"

"I know, I know…" Murphy said around the cigarette as he took the bottle of whiskey from Connor's hand and knee and he replaced it with one of his hands, leaning his weight there as he leaned in closer to say quietly, "…he jes' got a bit excited, Conn. He's a bit shaken, maybe he doesn't want te' hear et' but he knows…" Connor stared into Murphy's blue eyes with a lazy, loving gaze as his twin's smirk faded and he removed the cigarette from his lips, exhaling smoke to the side before continuing, "…he knows he would've died tonight, if we hadn't been there…" he trailed off, eyes boring straight into Connor's, serious and honest, "…et' scared him some is all."

Connor blinked as the built up smoke from Murphy's mouth burned his eyes in their close proximity.

Murphy was right about that bit regarding Rocco being shaken, he was obviously on edge, the night had held negative revelations for him in terms of his place in Yakavetta's mafia.

Connor sighed, taking note of his sibling's level of intoxication and he took advantage of it, letting his eyes trail over Murphy's nose and lips and his jaw, down to his neck, visible since they'd changed out of their turtlenecks back into T-shirts,

"Yer' right, Murph, we should tell him te' be careful." He mumbled.

"Aye, we should…tomorrow, he's too drunk now te' remember." Murphy laughed and ash fell from the cigarette onto the floor as he placed it between his lips again.

"Ar'ent yeh' drunk too, Murph?" Connor asked with a smile as he reached up and pinched the cigarette between his fingers, taking it from Murphy's lips.

Murphy watched as Connor put the near finished cigarette between his own lips and for a second, something felt different, weighted. Connor inhaled from it once and long, taking the cigarette down to the filter and then he removed it from his lips and held the smoke in, daring to look right back into Murphy's contemplative but relaxed gaze,

"I'm not drunk, Connor." He said crisply as if to make his point.

Connor panicked for a second, worrying over whether Murphy had noticed his non-too subtle closer than brotherly looks, wondering if he'd been obvious, if they should be positioned so physically close….but Murphy had put them that close, so he **forced** himself to be casual about it, to play it off as a joke.

After a smoky –slightly choked- exhale,

"Well yeh' should be, et's a night te' celebrate." He managed, glancing back out of the window before he threw the filter out, willing his heart rate to slow down.

Murphy grinned then and wiggled the bottle, sloshing its contents,

"Et's this shitty fuckin' whiskey, I think the Canadian's make et' fer' pussies." He stood up straight suddenly and Connor sensed he was about to invite Rocco back into the lounge with them, so he grabbed Murphy's wrist lightly to stop him, and Murphy looked at him again,

"No wait, Murph, gimme' a second will yeh'." He frowned slightly.

"Are yeh' still mad?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Connor shrugged,

"Side's that, we did some serious shit today, I just need a breather, a moment alone." He said quietly.

Murphy looked at him, then smiled slightly and nodded before he stepped away and pulled a randomly placed wooden chair over and set it in front of Connor's legs before he sat on it, placing the whiskey bottle on the floor and then leaning forward to rest his forearms on either of Connor's knees.

It was bad enough that Connor felt tipsy and touchy, but Murphy seemed to as well, despite claiming to not be drunk.

"That extra prayer yeh' did at the end was a nice touch." Murphy commented, looking up at Connor with a small smile, knowing without needing to be told that Connor wanted to talk about it, think about it, breathe it just a little longer, just until they did another job, if they did another job, "Very dramatic." He added with a smirk.

"Thank yeh', Murph, I thought yeh'd like that old traditional Irish touch." Connor said with a nod and a smirk, and taking his cue from Murphy's grin and close physicality, he placed his hand on the back of Murphy's head, fingers sliding into his cool sweat damp hair, giving in to his need to touch…just a little bit.

"Aye, very Irish, loud and sure." Murphy bowed his head under Connor's hand with a lazy loll as if he were tired, but there was a smile in his words.

Connor swallowed slowly as his hand slid down, Murphy's hair sliding between his fingers until he reached cool slightly clammy skin, the back of his sibling's pale neck.

It wouldn't have been a wrong touch, not if it wasn't for the heat rising in Connor's body as he slid his hand lower, his fingers slipping under Murphy's rosary beads, underneath the neckline of his shirt and over the first few prominent bumps of his spine…

…and he kept sliding until all he could see was his scarred wrist, his hand pressed flush against Murphy's cool skin in the dip between his shoulder blades, fingers shifting lightly, caressing his skin…_caressing._ Connor closed his eyes and swallowed again, his mouth felt dry as he tried to think of a way to divert the progression of this moment from turning weird, well, weirder,

"I really liked what yeh' said about us being like 7/11, very clever." He managed to say.

"Hmm, I know…" Murphy said sounding sleepy and calm and he didn't seem to mind the contact, "…bet yeh' wish yeh'd thought of et'." He raised his head with a lazy smirk on his face.

Connor's hand was still in his shirt, having shifted slightly to Murphy's shoulder, Connor's palm warming to his skin and Murphy's expression was relaxed as he licked his bottom lip with quick swipes of his tongue before he sniffed and spoke again, "Yeh' got smokes on yeh'?" he asked as his hand moved to pat Connor's jeans pockets.

Connor's heart skipped a beat at the touch, which was as stupid as any illogical and inappropriate reaction he'd been having to Murphy's touches because it was not the first time his twin had attempted to raid his pockets, be it for smokes or gum or cash, Murphy's hands had often found their way into his pockets in haste when Connor didn't do it fast enough.

"I don't have any on me, Murph, I left them on the table…" he said as evenly as he could manage as Murphy's arm rested across his lap for him to pat Connor's other pocket. Murphy stopped patting then and he rubbed the heel of his hand into one eye before he sat back, forcing Connor to remove his hand.

Murphy looked up at him, sitting back in the chair for a moment before he reached down and picked up the whiskey,

"What do we do next?" he asked before taking one and then a second gulp of the alcohol.

Connor sniffed, tapping his boots on Rocco's faded, scuffed carpet,  
>"I 'spose we'll see…" he rubbed at the side of his neck, disliking the sweat clinging to his skin as he massaged his sore muscles and hoped his body would cool down and his heart rate would ease,<p>

"Yeh' mean like wait…fer' another calling, another sign like the dream an' the pager?" Murphy asked quietly as he scratched his chin with his thumb, licking the inner seam of his lips over a few times and visibly craving a cigarette.

Connor shrugged and pulled his face a bit because he didn't have any idea how they were supposed to identify their targets. They'd told Rocco about what they were doing, about their plans to execute evil men, but hadn't explained why they were doing it in the first place. Rocco seemed to think they could be executing and delivering people every day and while he liked the sound of it, Connor had to figure out a way he and Murphy could find the right marks without risking exposing themselves to the police or their targets.

They had to be as careful as possible.

If Murphy had any ideas he didn't voice them and his facial shrug suggested he wasn't interested in brainstorming right then. Connor gestured for Murphy to hand him the bottle of whiskey and he drank from it, a decent gulp, as Murphy fiddled with his ear and continued to fidget, his leg started to bounce too,

"Fer' Christ's sake, Murph…" Connor took pity on his nicotine addicted sibling, "…Roc, would yeh' bring my smokes in here before Murphy loses his fuckin' mind!" Connor said loudly with a half-smile, grinning when Murphy punched his thigh but then said twin stood up, looking forward to a cigarette.

Their alone time wasn't much but Connor felt better, even with his conflicting feelings for his brother, he was starting to appreciate time alone with Murphy again. So obviously this change they were making to their lives was for the better.

Rocco came in seconds later with a smile, another apology, a packet of crumpled smokes and another bottle of whiskey and all was forgiven…and all of the whiskey was consumed.

* * *

><p>When morning came the twins had tried telling Rocco about the probability that the Italian mob had intended for him to die at the Russian mobster meeting the night before. As expected, Rocco didn't take it well and there was some yelling on top of headaches and hangovers before Rocco stormed off.<p>

Connor and Murphy went back to Rocco's apartment and waited there for a few hours, hoping for some word from Rocco that he was okay. Connor had been able to see the concern and stress written all over Murphy's face and he hated it. When Rocco did call he hadn't said anything to appease his twin and Connor tried not to be mad at Rocco's stupidity and how it affected Murphy.

And then Donna showed up with some friend of hers and he and Murphy didn't even have a chance to talk about Rocco's random phone call.

Of course nothing they could have discussed would have made a difference, not when an hour later Rocco burst through the door yelling at them to pack their shit up and informed them that he'd shot some Mafioso in broad fucking day light.

Connor was tempted to punch him in the face for making things recklessly complicated, but he didn't because Murphy's eyes were alight again within seconds of Rocco's entrance and he was encouraging Rocco, calling him a recruit and in the rush to get out of there Connor just went with it.

* * *

><p>In the end, sometime later when they were a good distance from the apartment, somehow Rocco had made a good enough argument for Connor to say that honestly, having him supply them with a list of scumbags to execute made sense, a fair amount at least. And of course, Murphy liked the idea because Rocco was in on it now and Connor liked it when Murphy was happy.<p>

But this thing they were doing was something that Connor knew could get very dangerous if they weren't careful and also, it was morally questionable. Because while Rocco was like family, he was not exactly a good guy himself and in some ways, he could have been lumped in with the very men Connor and Murphy were meant to be hunting.

But that was just another thought Connor decided to keep to himself…

…and so Rocco was in.

Damn Murphy and his gorgeous blue eyes that Connor always had trouble saying no to, it really wasn't fair.

* * *

><p><em>...I could love you more than love could<em>  
><em> All the way from hell<em>


	7. Chapter 6

**NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly. **

**Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale**

**Movie Verse:** **First Movie; Pre Canon - Canon / Canon Deviation**

**Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Conner and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.**

**Sub Note – As per the year and the events taking place in the movie, I have tried to keep the timeline accurate. Below is the timeline:**

**[The year the movie was based in was 1999 (as shown in the newspaper Murphy reads during the police station scene). That set St. Patrick's Day (March 17) as a Wednesday. The Twins would have spent the Thursday night in the police station after the Chekov incident and would leave the station on Friday morning (the date confirmed in the newspaper during the police station scene). The Russian mafia men would have been executed that Friday night (as per the details of the call Connor made) and it would have been on the Saturday morning/afternoon that Rocco would have driven by the Sin Bin with Connor and Murphy to tell them about Vincenzo.]**

**-The AO3 story upload has additional images**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<br>**

* * *

><p><em>You could be my favourite faded fantasy...<em>

* * *

><p>Fat Motherfucker Vincenzo, their second chosen target suggested to them by Rocco, would only be at the Sin Bin adult parlor four days from then, so they'd spent Saturday afternoon in a diner looking through the newspaper for apartments to rent since all three of them were technically homeless after Rocco's stunt.<p>

Connor had to admit that having a surplus of money was great. The money they took from the nine mobsters they'd executed was going to fund them for a while, it would have lasted even longer if they didn't need to find an apartment and start paying rent, but it would still do for the time being.

As it was with cash on hand, it didn't take long to find an apartment and by that Saturday early evening they'd found one that was furnished, a one bedroom, kitchen, lounge, bathroom, with two beds, a fridge, stove, a small kitchen table and chair set and two small double sofas. Aside from the basic furnishings and amenities they had the random shit they'd taken in a hurry from Rocco's place, which included a clothes iron oddly enough. And thereafter they bought the next necessary things…from the nearest liquor store, so they were stocked up with beer, whiskey, Pepsi's and cigarettes.

The weekend, which included Monday when it came to drinking with Rocco, went by in a drunken blur and by Tuesday Connor was starting to wish Rocco could find somewhere else to live. He loved Rocco, they were friends and despite bad choices and a few bad traits the Italian had, Roc was a good guy.

But Connor needed his sanctuary, his privacy, where he was alone with Murphy so if they wanted to talk they could and if they didn't they could sit in comfortable silence, or they could pray together. Whatever they wanted to do, they could do alone, in private.

No matter how strange it was recently for Connor, he still wanted it.

But Rocco was around all the time now, sleeping on their sofa, sitting at their kitchen table sometimes before they even woke up, eating left over takeout and it was getting to be a bit much. Still, Connor would endure, because while he missed his and Murphy's time alone, Rocco did provide a distraction from his incestuous thoughts and since the feelings were getting easier to manage, as if he were coming to terms with it, he felt like having someone's presence being there to keep him in check was a good thing.

Presently Connor was pulling his coat on, Rocco was smoking in the kitchen, hung over with his head in his hands and Murphy was still asleep. Connor had woken up first and had been quiet purposely so as not to wake Murphy because he was going to go out to be alone for a while. He would have preferred Murphy being with him but if it wasn't a possibility, because Rocco would likely tag along if Murphy was, he wasn't going to deny himself the peace.

He walked by Rocco on his way out and smirked at the Italian's state, smacking him on the back of his head as he passed and grinning when Rocco groaned and held the side of his head, mumbling a 'fuck you man' in a pained voice. Connor stifled a snicker and headed for the door, pulling it open before he checked his pockets for his wallet, smokes and his set of keys and then he stepped out and closed the door quietly behind himself.

He made his way down the hall, appreciating how much nicer the apartment building was compared to their former one, before he stopped at the small lift, hitting the scratched up button at the side so it lit up and then he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Connor glanced back down the hallway when a door opened, he expected it would be one of their new neighbors but he raised his eyebrows when he saw Murphy step out of their apartment.

Connor held his breath and balled his fists inside his coat pockets as his sleep mussed , half-dressed sibling approached him with squinted eyes and an annoyed frown,

"What the fuck, Connor?" he asked a bit raspily, voice still sleepy, once he'd come to stand near enough, less than a meter away.

Connor deliberately looked away to the lift doors, not having the strength to keep his eyes from wandering over Murphy's naked torso, all the way down to where his jeans was only zipped and not buttoned and the waistband of his boxer shorts was visible.

"What?" he asked back as evenly as possible.

Murphy hit his shoulder once and then again so he was shoved back against the wall beside the elevator,

"…the fuck is yer' problem, Connor, yeh' were just gonna' go off somewhere an' not even tell me?"

Connor frowned and chose not to shove back, instead he just raised a hand from his pocket and gestured at Murphy,

"Murph, stop being so overdramatic, I'm takin' a fuckin' walk, yeh'll be fine fer' five minutes without me, yeh' don't need me te' wipe yer' arse." He said irritably to mask his own uneasiness.

Murphy narrowed his eyes and Connor thought he might say something but instead he just pushed his jaw out a bit, a sign that he was pissed off and then he just turned around and walked away, disappearing back into the apartment and slamming the door loudly.

Connor slumped against the wall, wondering if the best course of action would have just been to invite Murphy to come with him, after all, that's what he would have preferred.

His second guessing was interrupted by the lift arriving and with a hesitant glance back down the hall, Connor stepped into the elevator.

* * *

><p>Connor's mood hadn't improved after his 'walk', which he'd returned from a few hours later, having spent the Tuesday afternoon in a bar he'd never been in, watching an American football game which hadn't been too shitty. It still didn't improve after the nap he'd taken, or after the beer and whiskey and all of Rocco's tales of mafia. And Murphy had decided not to talk to him which was frustrating and unsettling and totally deserved, so Connor left him alone.<p>

* * *

><p><em>You could be my favourite taste<em>  
><em> To touch my tongue...<em>

* * *

><p>Wednesday afternoon, the twins and Rocco were sitting around the small table in the light mint green and white kitchen.<p>

Connor and Murphy were drinking sodas as they cleaned, rechecked and loaded their Berettas, sitting side by side with Rocco across from them, drinking a beer, all three of them smoking and there was no conversation. Murphy had started talking to Connor again that morning, but only to ask him if Rocco could go with them on the hit. Connor had said 'no' and Murphy had wanted to discuss it but he'd walked away and since then his twin's anxiousness and frustration were heavy in his own mind and it was starting to stress Connor out since he felt the tension of it in his shoulders, neck and at the base of his skull.

And he hated how distant he felt from Murphy.

But they had business to attend to and so he had to clear his mind.

Rocco had told them all about Fat Motherfucker Vincenzo and they had agreed to execute him that night.

Murphy paused in loading his magazine to pick his cigarette up from the ashtray and bring it to his lips, he was restless and Connor looked at him right then because he felt it like a shift in the air, Murphy had something he wanted to say and when he looked at Connor they remained that way for a few seconds, making eye contact, trying to level with one another, to apologize and forgive wordlessly, but Rocco interrupted.

"I can't fucking believe those bastards, 18 fucking years…fuck!" Rocco exclaimed and shook his head, wild hair swinging and Connor looked to him at the same time as Murphy did before they both turned back to what they were doing with their guns.

"You guys were fucking right, fuck, you told me that that was how shit was, shit…" Rocco went on, hitting the heel of his hand to his head and Connor offered him an amused smile, "…man, I nearly fucked up good huh…?" Murphy nodded with a lopsided smile as he loaded bullet after bullet.

Soft click after soft click…

…their minds distracted by one another.

Rocco sighed then, just when Connor was attaching the suppressor to his second pistol,

"I need to take a fucking shower, I fucking stink man, you guys mind? I mean you guys know what you're doing with the guns and shit, you don't need my help right…?" he asked with a gestured thumb over his shoulder and then to the weapons.

Murphy snorted out a laugh and touched his nose to tease Rocco about him smelling bad,

"O'course Roc…do us a favor would yeh'." he gestured with his chin for Rocco to go ahead, hands busy as he clicked his second magazine in and Connor just nodded, also gesturing with a tip of his head.

Connor waited until he heard the bathroom door shut before he placed his gun down and grabbed the cigarette pack, lighting up two at once and handing one to Murphy since he'd finished his previous one, then,

"What's bothering yeh', Murph?" he addressed the niggling distraction in the back of his mind that was Murphy's discontent and his twin looked at him for a few seconds, elbow up on the table and cigarette held aloft,

"Et's you." He said simply.

Connor looked at Murphy with a deep frown, his unloaded Beretta was cool under the palm of his free hand as he absently fiddled with it, his attention focused on the way Murphy was worrying his bottom lip with his tongue,

"Me?" Connor asked as he forced himself to look Murphy in the eye.

He was slipping. It was getting far too easy to _look_ and _feel_ and _want._

"Aye, Connor, I can feel that this is botherin' yeh'…bringing Rocco in, et's been on yer' mind since this morning after I asked yeh' about him coming along." He went straight to the point in low tones even though they could hear the shower water running, "What is et', yeh' don't trust him?"

Connor sighed and propped his elbows on the table as he leaned in closer to his twin, relieved that that was all Murphy sensed to be the problem,

"He's reckless Murph, yeh' know I love Roc, yeh' know I do, but he does really stupid shit sometimes…" Connor emphasized by tapping his finger to the side of his head, "…he doesn't think, he's too impulsive an' that can be dangerous fer' all of us." Murphy rubbed his fingers irritably over his chin before taking a drag from his smoke and Connor pressed on, "Am I wrong, tell me' if yeh' think I'm fuckin' wrong?"

Murphy exhaled quickly and turned to him again, bringing their faces pretty damn close, so much so that Connor could smell the cigarette smoke and feel the warmth of Murphy's breath against his face, his mouth, his chin.

Just like in that fucking dream. Shit.

"Yer' not wrong, okay, I know he doesn't always think, Connor…" he said firmly, eyes sharp and serious as he gestured with his burning cigarette between them, "…but he'll be with us."

Connor swallowed tensely and shifted his cigarette between his fingers before he smoked from it, leaning back from Murphy slightly so he could get his bearings and take a breath that wasn't shared directly with his twin,

"We can't baby sit him, we have te' take care of ourselves." He said quietly and firmly.

Murphy sighed, smoke streaming out of his nose after the long drag he'd just taken and then he worried his lower lip with his tongue again and Connor imagined himself leaning in, catching Murphy's tongue and bottom lip in a sensual suckle and then tasting his mouth with a _slow_ kiss.

He looked away, swallowing heavily as he rubbed his hand over his face and then his mouth.

He heard Murphy sigh again and then pat his shoulder to get his attention and Connor forced himself to look at Murphy,

"Just give him a chance, Conn, let him prove us wrong."

"Or right…" Connor added gruffly.

"Aye, fine, or right, whatever, just let him try, yeah?" he half rolled his eyes.

They locked eyes and Connor sighed, Murphy was too gorgeous for his own good, with those eyes that he had, eyes that asked worlds of Connor without saying a word. Connor dropped his gaze to Murphy's lips and while his twin seemed to notice he didn't say anything about it,

"Alright, he can come with us tonight." He conceded and turned his head and gaze away.

Connor saw the grin on his twin's face even from a side angle but was surprised when Murphy hooked an arm around his shoulders and yanked him closer so he could place a kiss to the side of Connor's head, against his hair. Connor reached up absently to pat the side of Murphy's face but in a moment of driven desire to do more, he grasped Murphy's face instead and turned so they were face to face again.

Quickly and with just a single press and well aligned placement, Connor kissed Murphy a little more inward than to the corner of his mouth. The contact of his and Murphy's lips sent a jolt of heat through his nerves, also the slightly rough texture of the hair above Murphy's top lip against Connor's lip and the small raise of his mole felt as Connor's thumb brushed over it were sweet things that would be imprinted in Connor's mind until the day he died. He was hopeful it would stay with him in hell, especially the memory of the _softness_ of his twin's lips, and the smoothness that surprised him. It also surprised him like liquid heat through his veins to feel lingering moisture transferred from his twin's lips to his own and to have felt the hitch in Murphy's breath.

Their eyes met with their lips touching just so.

And Connor stopped breathing while Murphy slowly started to frown.

Christ Almighty, that five second kiss was as bad and wrong and sick as any non-platonic kiss could be between blood brothers and Connor drew back suddenly, his hand landing on Murphy's shoulder to pat him roughly once in a forced brotherly gesture as he looked away. Connor felt cold in his face because he'd probably paled when he realized what he'd done, he'd just been saying how reckless Rocco was, only to be an extreme example of recklessness himself.

Stupid so stupid. His body was too warm. Everywhere it shouldn't be.

Connor was grateful and relieved when Rocco reappeared in the doorway at that exact moment wearing only his jeans and socks and his wet mop of hair made him look a bit like a wet dog, a wet dog with excellent timing,

"This place ain't bad, the waters fucking hot…" he said approvingly as he came over and pulled up a chair again.

Connor was hyper aware of Murphy's movements, his twin crushing his cigarette filter into the ashtray then rubbing his fingers over his mouth before his hand lingered there and Connor decided he needed to give himself some space when Murphy's tongue did a single slide across his lips, an absent action but for Connor it was too much,

"A shower sounds good." He said as evenly as possible, thinking of a cold shower.

He stood up and left the room with no obvious hurry or discomfort but inside he was both dizzy and anxious with his feelings because he had no idea what reaction to expect from Murphy over what he'd done.

What he did know, and he was afraid of, was that the next time they were alone, Murphy would ask him just what the fuck he'd been doing when he kissed him.

And God help him, Connor didn't know how he'd answer.

* * *

><p>That night the execution went well enough.<p>

After they'd all cleaned up, dressed and prepared, Connor had forced himself to behave as normally as possible, forced himself to get his act together. And Rocco had certainly made the experience of their second job interesting in a funny sort of way.

Then again, the entire scenario was far less serious than the nine Russian mobsters they'd executed the week before. In comparison, killing a couple of perverts while they were jerking off was hilarious in a lot of ways.

Connor tried not to count himself in with those low lives though, his type of perversion, his incestuous feelings, were different and yes, worse in some dark ways, but not as impure, not vile and as violating as what the men in the adult parlor were doing. Connor **loved** Murphy, loved him with every bit of his heart and soul and mind, with every breath and thought and action. It wasn't some twisted sexual thing for him, so he would not think of himself as the same as the perverts they'd killed that night, because no matter what, he would never cross certain lines and he'd never look upon Murphy as those men did those women.

Murphy was his _everything_.

And while the idea of gratifying himself to mental images of Murphy had crossed his mind several times since that damned dream, Connor had chosen celibacy before and had recently vowed to it properly with his brother, so he used that promise between them to strengthen his resolve not to masturbate. If he hadn't been doing it all these years, he saw no reason to now.

Admittedly the sexual feelings he was developing is what scared him most, they were the feelings that set aside every other feeling he had for Murphy, feelings he had never thought too close or too intimate until recently. More and more each day Connor was starting to see that the way he'd always felt for Murphy was a bit too much, a bit more than it should be. A little more each day Connor was realizing that the dream had basically just opened up Pandora's Box for him, and now he had to face it, he had to face his own feelings.

Feelings he didn't want Murphy to know about and yet he'd been foolish enough to kiss his twin on the lips.

Connor took a sip of his beer where he sat at the table in the kitchen and he glanced over to where Murphy and Rocco were animatedly talking about the evening's activities in the small lounge. The entire place was covered in a cloud of smoke and it already smelled like liquor and cigarettes and other trace scents of takeout food, gun cleaning solvent and sweat.

Connor closed his one eye as he took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling a few seconds later and continuing to watch Murphy imitate the way Rocco had used their Beretta's to shoot the other two scum bags, besides Vincenzo, that had been in the club. Connor hadn't thought it was a good idea to let Rocco do any shooting and he'd tried to brush Rocco off when he'd asked, but then Murphy had asked him to give Rocco a shot.

And well, Connor had been feeling all fucked up over what had happened in the kitchen that afternoon and he hadn't wanted to argue or have a side discussion with Murphy on why it wasn't a good idea, so he'd given in.

He huffed out a small laugh as he listened to Murphy making fun of Rocco for his bad shooting, his twin looked happy and he was clearly enjoying himself in their new jobs and in their present company. Rocco was half drunk again and the first thing Connor had done once they returned to the apartment was unload all the guns, which were spread out and in pieces on the table in front of him, cleaned and waiting to be reassembled.

He hadn't been willing to take any chances on Rocco's drunkenness after Murphy came close to being shot the last time.

Connor watched as Murphy and Rocco got into a wrestling match and naturally Murphy had Rocco shoved face first into the couch with his weight on Rocco's back after a short tousle.

Aside from Rocco being drunk, the man wasn't a fighter whereas Murphy and himself were, and they were fucking good at it, especially when they were drinking, they tended to fight even better.

He watched Murphy laugh as he held Rocco down, practically sitting on him and Murphy did that thing where he worried his tongue over his bottom lip, mouth open and eyes focused, always without fail whenever he was full of energy or feeling restless, he did that thing and Connor loved and hated it.

He smiled sadly to himself before finishing off his cigarette and then his beer, he had no way of checking the time but he could guess it was probably well after two AM and he was feeling tired, not so much physically as emotionally.

Connor rubbed a hand over his face before getting up from his chair and walking through the kitchen door into the short hall that led to the bedroom and bathroom. He didn't look back to the lounge, with the guns in pieces and their ammo in a bag kept in the bedroom, he felt confident enough leaving the other two men unattended.

While Murphy wasn't careless himself with the guns when they were loaded, there was a chance he wouldn't stop Rocco from being stupid, so better safe than sorry.

When he entered the bedroom, Connor pulled his shirt off and then his rosary, mumbling a quick prayer before crossing himself, kissing the cross and then hanging it on the nail above his bed where someone before him had probably hung a rosary. There were nails in the wall above both beds. He didn't bother to get completely undressed, he just removed his boots and belt and then fell onto his bed with a heavy sigh.

* * *

><p><em>You could be my poison, my cross...<em>

* * *

><p>Connor stood face to face with Murphy, his blue eyes were sharp and focused on Connor's own, his fair skin seemed so white and matte against the dark blurry background and it was cold in whatever room they were in.<p>

Connor frowned, noticing how close they stood…they were shirtless, all matching tattoos visible on unblemished skin and he could smell Murphy's warm skin, Connor recognized the scent distinctly from some point in time when he'd noted it.

He wanted to say Murphy's name, a question, but the sound never came, instead his eyes trailed down to Murphy's lips and Murphy watched him closely, just a finger length away, his soft breathing could be felt on Connor's face. Connor tried to tell himself not to but he still leaned in anyway, closing the gap between them, pressing his lips to Murphy's as he'd done just recently, except more directly and firmly, his lips puckered lightly and he inhaled quietly at the closer than close sensation of it.

Murphy watched him, he didn't move, he didn't respond, he no longer breathed.

And then Connor heard a dual clicking sound of two guns being cocked –it echoed too loudly- followed a second later by the cold press of two barrels being placed under Connor's jaw firmly and Murphy's blue eyes darkened, narrowing slightly.

Connor swallowed tensely, his body rigid and his eyes burning with the sudden need to cry, the blood in his veins felt frozen cold.

Murphy's eyes reflected judgment as he stared Connor down, it was the exact way he looked when he and Connor were about to shoot evil men.

It hit Connor then, like the wind being knocked from him…that Murphy was about to judge him…because he was an evil man, a sick man…a man who coveted his own brother.

Murphy's eyes were cold now, and Connor _saw_ it in those stunning blue eyes, the damnation, and he _heard_ the words echo in his mind, **Evil Man, Dead Man.**

Murphy didn't draw back when he spoke, his lips moving against Connor's,

"An' Shepherds we shall be, fer' thee, my Lord, fer' thee." He said quietly, never breaking eye contact, "Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, Our feet may swiftly carry out Thy commands." And with every word his breath ghosted over Connor's lips, slipped into his slightly opened mouth, "So we shall flow a river forth to Thee, And teeming with souls shall et' ever be."

For Connor everything was spinning, he couldn't take a breath, every word echoed loudly and he couldn't look away… and then everything just went silent when Murphy paused.

He blinked slowly, kissed Connor's cheek just beside his mouth chastely and then drew back,

"In Nomeni Patri Et Fili…Spiritus Sancti."

Click. Click.

* * *

><p><em>...my razor blade...<em>

* * *

><p>Connor jerked awake, taking in a short silent breath of air as he sat up halfway in his bed, resting his weight on his elbows.<p>

His heart was pounding painfully in his chest and his ears were ringing with the sound of gunshots that had not really been fired, it had been a dream…a fucking _nightmare_.

"Jesus Christ…" he breathed out quietly as he sat up fully, hunching forward and drawing his legs up for balance before he cuffed a hand through his hair and then ran it down his face.

"Connor?" Murphy's sleep groggy voice came from his right and Connor removed his hand from his face and glanced over at his twin who was leaning up on one elbow and frowning at him from his bed just a few feet away, he was also stripped down to his jeans, his rosary hanging above his bed.

Connor knew his dream had probably woken his twin through their connection, because he hadn't made any noise in waking. He also knew it because on the rare occasion Murphy had dreams or nightmares Connor usually felt his sleep disturbed, it was always hard to explain, but it was just how it was between them.

"I'm fine, Murph." He said by way of an answer before he looked away from Murphy, his dream still playing over and over again in his head and making him feel worried and sick.

Was that how Murphy would see him…as an evil man?

He sniffed and coughed a bit, staring at the early daylight filtering in through the closed curtains of their bedroom and wondering if the nightmare was a sign that he should be stronger and keep himself in check.

No more slip ups.

Connor heard Murphy sigh and flop back down on his bed, then from out of his peripheral he saw his twin draw his legs up before pulling himself up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Connor did the same then, there would be no going back to sleep anyway.

Murphy had pulled on his shirt by the time Connor was about to do the same and he paused with his arms in his sleeves, ready to pull it over his head when his eyes locked with Murphy's, as they usually did when they needed to sync up, to know that the other was alright, that everything was in order.

But Connor couldn't hold Murphy's gaze for as long as he usually did, not after having just seen those eyes in his nightmare right before _dream_ Murphy had put two bullets into his head. So he averted his eyes downward and pulled his shirt on before getting up, aware of Murphy sitting and watching him, breathing evenly, appearing calm but Connor could feel his sadness and worry.

He didn't linger there to wait for Murphy to confront him, Connor left the room after grabbing his rosary and he put it over his head as he entered the kitchen and then walked into the lounge to wake Rocco up.

Connor didn't acknowledge how heavy and cold his rosary felt around his neck, all he knew was that he needed coffee and there wasn't any in the apartment.

So he tossed Rocco's coat onto his body where he was passed out on the sofa, waking him roughly and told him to get up.

Connor then doubled back to the bathroom to freshen up, leaving a confused Rocco without an explanation.

* * *

><p>Connor was staring at Rocco from across the table in a coffee shop a half hour later, worrying the inside of his lip with his teeth as he hunched over his coffee cup. Murphy sat beside him, his posture and unrested appearance wasn't much better than Connor's but he looked focused and taken in by Rocco's tale of the family killing bastard he'd once done a job with.<p>

It sounded to Connor like a tricky and unfortunate situation to have been in but he didn't really feel bad for Rocco having had to witness that, the man had made a choice to get involved with the mob at a young age, so he had known what he was getting into, or at least he should have.

He was just picking his coffee up when Murphy spoke,

"Well, I'm sold." His twin said surely, quietly and he glanced at Connor, but Connor didn't look at him, not wanting to see that glint of judgment in Murphy's eyes, whether it was for him or not.

Even the idea of it sent an unpleasant shiver down Connor's spine.

Connor sipped the hot, bitter coffee and it went down sorely as he swallowed.

Despite knowing that the family killing man needed to be executed, he didn't feel sorry for Rocco, not like his twin did…but right then Rocco was looking at him and Connor realized they were waiting for his approval because it had to be a yes from both twins, or nothing went ahead.

So he played along, because the bastard did need to die one way or another,

"Don't worry Roc, we'll do this guy right an' you'll feel a lot better." He said evenly, nodding and briefly glancing at Murphy and then back to Rocco before he dropped his eyes to the table and turned his cup round absently, his fingers gripping the rim.

Rocco smiled and nodded, his shaggy hair hanging in his face,

"Thanks man, you guys, both of you…you fucking guys will be legends one day." He praised quietly, his usual enthusiasm heavy in his voice.

Murphy was smiling slightly, lips turned up at the corners as he sipped his coffee and Connor chose to put his mind to trying to formulate a plan because that was what he did, he planned.

That, and he needed to keep his mind busy.

"Tell us about this poker game, Roc."

* * *

><p>They had less than two days to wait before Saturday, when they'd be able to execute their next target at his poker game. They talked it through properly that Thursday morning after they went back to the apartment and Conner had had some time to think on it.<p>

Connor's plan consisted of hiring a van to get them there and to wait in since it would be a daytime job and also getting Rocco a gun, because he was going to be a constant in their executions now so he'd need a weapon of his own. His plan also required waiting until the child of the killer was no longer in the house and so that meant that if they waited all day Saturday and the boy didn't leave, the execution would not go down.

Murphy readily agreed and so did Rocco.

When Connor was going over ideas of how to remove the wife from the situation after she'd served her purpose, Rocco had blurted out that they should just knock her out with a hit to the head. Connor hadn't even had to say anything, Murphy had not only flicked his still burning cigarette filter at Rocco but then he'd stood up, reached across the table and smacked the side of Rocco's head, calling him a 'fucking idiot.'

Indeed he was.

There would be no unprovoked violence on any innocent people.

So Connor suggested a stun gun and Murphy agreed, as did Rocco with a sheepish nod.

Later that same day, after a lunch which consisted of Chinese takeout, beer and cigarettes, Conner restated that he and Murphy needed to see their weapons contact about getting Rocco a gun.

He'd been worried when Rocco asked if he could come along, that Murphy would say yes and then look to him for affirmation and Connor would not give it and then they'd be fighting again. But Murphy surprised him by saying no to Rocco, telling him in that nice, calm, teasing way that Murphy did so well that, '_I don't think he'd appreciate us bringing a former mafian wop into his Irish gun keep, Roc.'_

Rocco had flipped him off and grumbled about it halfheartedly but he'd accepted it as the final decision.

Presently Connor and Murphy were inside the weapons cage, they'd already paid the guy for what they needed and he'd seemed almost happy to see them, there'd been a look on his face as though he knew who they were.

Then again, considering the weapons they'd purchased, the timing of the mafia murders and with how quickly word could get around in South Boston, he supposed maybe the man _did_ know who they were.

"What should we get him, same as ours?" Murphy asked as he packed a _proper_ balaclava for Rocco into a black duffle bag. Connor handed him a pair of leather gloves to put in the bag and then he looked at the gun walls, seeing that the spots where they'd taken their Berettas from had been filled but the guns weren't the same, they were Taurus PT92's.

Connor reached up and took one down, opening it up, checking the magazine and the hammer and then Murphy moved to stand next to him, having added a gun holster to the bag along with the necessary boxes of bullets, he placed it on the counter in front of them.

"Et's close enough…" Murphy said and he and Connor looked at each other in agreement, so Murphy reached up for the second one displayed on the wall and he did a quick check of it before placing it in the bag, "…et' takes more ammo." He pointed out.

"Aye…plus one in the chamber." Connor noted and placed the one he held in the bag as well before he looked at Murphy, "Do we need more bullets?" he asked since they were on the subject.

Murphy paused and looked at him and then he rubbed his chin,

"We should get just in case." He shrugged.

Connor nodded and they grabbed four more boxes of bullets each.

Then Murphy snickered,

"Rocco is kind of a bad shot, extra would be a good idea." He teased and Connor laughed quietly with him as they made their way out of the cage.

* * *

><p>They left the weapons dealer in good spirits and stopped in at a diner to get some coffee and have a smoke, putting the duffel bag under the table near the wall and out of sight.<p>

At that moment Murphy was lightly rubbing his 'Aequitas' tattooed finger along the seam of his lips as he thought about something or the other and Connor had been trying not to stare, focusing rather on skimming the newspaper that a previous customer had left on table. There was some news on their former executions but from what he could tell the police had nothing on them, he smiled around his cigarette as he set the newspaper down to pick up his coffee.

Murphy chose that time to strike up conversation,

"We need te' go te' church, Connor." He said quietly, his eyes settled on Connor's when he looked at his twin, "Et's been almost two weeks." He added.

Whereas usually it was four times a week minimum.

Connor understood Murphy's unsettle, while he hadn't been going to mass as often when he'd first been dealing with his new disturbing feelings for Murphy, he had still been going at least once a week. So he also felt the lack of that routine in their lives, that and a few other things that had been simple but a part of their days. Like cold showers a few times a week due to their shitty living conditions, eating toast for supper and drinking bad coffee on hung over mornings. He and Murphy just sitting on their ratty mattresses, talking, just talking sometimes for hours over beers and smokes about life, Ireland and their Ma and the people they used to call family and friends.

And praying, they'd had the privacy to pray, together or separately, they'd go to church whenever they wanted to, not just when they felt they had to.

Connor missed McGinty's too.

But missing those things was not enough to make him regret what they'd chosen and as Connor looked at Murphy right then, as they communicated without words, Connor realized that Murphy wasn't regretting their new life style, he was simply missing church and the peace it brought him.

And Connor felt it for him, somewhat literally, since his brother's sadness often weighed on his own mood to some degree, but even so, that didn't change one simple fact,

"Murphy, yeh' know we can't."

Murphy sighed out a stream of smoke from his nose and scratched at the fading scar above his right eye before he propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward,

"Conne-…"

"Murph…" Connor cut him off, showing his empathy with his expression as he leaned forward as well and spoke very quietly, the cigarette smoke mingling between them, "We'd be fuckin' idiots te' walk into a church when the police are lookin' fer' two devout Irish catholic men in South Boston. Those are probably the first places they started monitoring after-…"

"I know that," Murphy cut him off, his eyes narrowing but not in anger, just upset, "but we need to Connor, I can feel et'…" his tone was quiet too and when he licked his lips Connor averted his gaze a bit obviously and cuffed his free hand through his hair, "…I know yeh' haven't been too interested in going lately, but we **need** to." He repeated, leaning as far as he comfortably could across the table, tilting his head to try and see Connor's face since he'd bowed his head slightly.

"Look at me, Connor." He said quietly, evenly.

Connor swallowed tensely, he knew he shouldn't be so weak that he couldn't even face Murphy, but it was difficult when he put his face that close, especially after having just about kissed those lips as well as that latest nightmare. But Murphy's tone was serious and quietly imploring and Connor didn't want to put his brother off again, so he forced himself to look at Murphy…their faces a hand's length apart, as his twin scrutinized him, "I can't go alone, Connor, et' doesn't feel right." He said softly.

Connor stared at him until his eyes started to wander to Murphy's lips so he closed them instead and nodded,

"Okay, we'll go…but not today, Murph." He leaned back slowly in his seat and opened his eyes to find Murphy staring at the table top as he leaned back as well, "Soon as we're done with this job we'll drive into Back Bay or South End an' go te' a church there, sometime in the week, but not during a mass, alright?" He offered a logical idea.

Murphy put his cigarette out in the ashtray as he nodded before running his index finger along the shell of his ear absently,

"Aye, that's fine." He mumbled.

"Don't be mad at me, Murphy…" Connor said irritably, feeling stressed out, "…this is what we chose."

"I'm not mad about church, Connor." Murphy said with a sharp look at him and Connor tried hard to smile as he dropped his burned out cigarette into the ashtray.

"What then?"

He really didn't know, but he was sure Murphy had a lot to be pissed off about. It still amazed Connor that his twin had yet to bring up the kiss incident. Connor felt like he was walking on egg shells, just waiting for the confrontation and all the while trying to stay calm and behave normally.

It was exhausting…

Murphy dropped cash on the table and then grabbed the duffel bag as he sighed,

"Just forget et'." He said as he stood up and waited for Connor to get up too.

Not knowing what else he could do besides ask more questions to which he didn't want answers, Connor just got up and left the diner with Murphy to head back to the apartment.

His mind buzzing and his heart heavy….and the distance between them growing.

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><p><em>...I could love you more than life<em>  
><em> If I wasn't so afraid.<em>


	8. Chapter 7

**NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly. **

**Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale**

**Movie Verse:** **First Movie; Pre Canon - Canon / Canon Deviation**

**Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Conner and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.**

**Sub Note – The content of the next chapter and the ones that follow it will be rated between M and NC 17. The explicit chapters will be censored in these uploads due to Fanfiction dot net's policy. The uncensored version can be found on AO3, the link to my account is available on my profile.**

**- The AO3 upload has additional images**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven<br>**

* * *

><p><em>Tiredness fuels empty thoughts<em>  
><em> I find myself disposed<em>  
><em> Brightness fills empty space<em>  
><em> In search of inspiration...<em>

_Harder now with higher speed_  
><em> Washing in on top of me...<em>

* * *

><p>Connor was sitting with his head in his hands, elbows on the kitchen table.<p>

His cigarette was burning out between his fingers, smoke idly floating up into the air, the apartment was quiet.

Rocco was passed out on the sofa for the last ten minutes after having drunk and medicated himself into a stupor while mourning the loss of his finger and Murphy was taking a shower…washing away caked blood and dried cold sweat from his pale skin.

The job to execute the family killer had started out so well, it'd been nearly done and dusted…and then everything had turned to _shit_. One minute they'd been leaving a successful execution and then the next there'd been open fire, a fucking gun fight on a suburban street and they'd been shot…Jesus Christ, **Murphy** had been shot.

Connor had been blinded by anger when out of his peripheral he'd seen his brother go down, he'd lost any semblance of care for not getting himself shot in that second and all he'd wanted to do was land a bullet in the motherfucker who had been shooting at them. Even when he'd got shot in his leg, he'd been so driven by adrenalin and fury that Connor had hardly felt it aside from a brief searing hot pain…and he'd just kept firing…and firing and he was sure he'd been screaming at some point.

Finally he'd managed to shoot the son of a bitch, it wasn't a fatal wound, only in the arm, but it had been enough to make the old bastard retreat.

Then Connor had shouted for his brother, needing to hear Murphy's voice, to know he was okay, alive, breathing…

…and the second he'd heard Murphy shout out a curse and the sound of his gun still being fired, Connor was able to take a full breath into his lungs and his mind had cleared, the blood red in his vision had seeped away and then it had been time to pull their shit back together. Quickly.

Murphy alive. Check. Rocco alive. Check. Get the weapons bag. Check. Get the blood. Check. Get the hell out of there. Check.

They'd argued when they got back to the apartment, screaming and bleeding and panicking and angry.

At that present moment, Connor _still_ believed Rocco had been lying to them when he said he didn't know the bastard who had single-handedly ambushed them and while Murphy hadn't continued to badger Rocco about it like he had, he suspected Murphy was on the same page as him.

It had to be some big time guy that Rocco was afraid of.

But they'd had to drop the issue because their wounds had needed to be tended to and that damn clothes iron of Rocco's turned out to be useful after all. The twins were lucky the bullets had only grazed them, Murphy's arm wound was shallower than the graze to Connor's leg and with a finger missing Rocco had technically sustained the worst injury.

They'd taken turns with the iron and Connor had refused to let Rocco cauterize Murphy's bullet wound, he'd had to do it himself. If pain was to be inflicted on his twin, he would administer it and he would do it only as much as was absolutely necessary.

It had hurt physically for him to hear Murphy screaming muffled through the cloth he'd been biting down on and the burn on Murphy's arm from the iron was felt as a secondary deep ache in Connor's chest, his throat and over all of his skin. And Murphy had thrashed, so Connor had shouted with him while Rocco had held Murphy down, and the table had rattled beneath their combined weight.

Conner would not soon forget Murphy's muffled screams…

Rocco went next, he'd struggled too against the cauterizing of his exposed, raw flesh but Connor had held him firmly while Murphy had sealed his wound…

…and then it'd been Connor's turn.

The pain had been _excruciating,_ viciously raw, as if someone had been cutting into his leg with a fire hot, blunt steel blade…he could only hope to never have to go through it again.

But that was wishful thinking. Naïve, wishful thinking.

Even right then, after hours had passed, his leg still burned and ached and tingled and just plain fucking **hurt**. But he'd get over it, he'd known he could about halfway through the cauterization, when he'd felt Murphy tense behind him whilst restraining him and Connor had heard his twin grunt in anger and shared pain, that he would be fine as long as his brother was fine.

Connor sighed presently, he was tired, his eyes half lidded as he huffed loudly and removed his hands from his face so he could smoke from what was left of his cigarette.

Honestly, he blamed Rocco for the entire shit storm, since first Rocco has said that their target had not been in the room after they'd taken out the other men at the poker game and then Rocco had started to get spastic, which had made Murphy anxious and Connor tense and irritable.

But then their target had shown himself and the first thing Rocco did was fucking _run_.

That really pissed Connor off.

"Christ…" Connor mumbled to himself, shaking his head as he picked up his soda can, unlike Rocco, he and Murphy wouldn't mix medication with alcohol. There was barely a sip left in his can so he reached for the one Murphy had been drinking from before he'd left the kitchen to go and shower, it was half full and slightly warm but he still took a gulp from it.

He'd been pissed off further when Murphy had jumped their target carelessly, risking himself, wanting to help Rocco and Connor had reacted accordingly, restraining Murphy and telling him that Rocco had to take care of himself. He'd hated to see the look of worry on Murphy's face when said twin shouted that Rocco could get killed, but Connor had firmly reminded his twin that it was his idea to bring Rocco in…and being _in_ meant being able to take care of yourself.

In the end it'd worked out, Rocco had gotten the upper hand on the target, managed to kill the bastard and Connor had been relieved and genuinely proud of Rocco and Murphy had seemed relieved and proud too, he hadn't even been angry at Connor for stopping him from interfering.

It'd been good, it'd gone well…

Then the old guy with six…or eight – Connor wasn't even sure- fucking guns showed up. Who in God's name…?

Connor glanced to the lounge, but through the doorway he couldn't see Rocco, only hear him snoring.

Quietly he seethed.

It was the second time in two weeks that he'd experienced the possibility of losing Murphy, not counting his dream which had felt real but ultimately hadn't been, and it had cut him deep both times.

Thinking of the dream, Connor frowned as he realized that he'd never given much consideration to anything that it consisted of besides the fact that he'd kissed Murphy in it. When he thought back on it now, or at least what he could remember, like the escaping from prison part, he took a moment to wonder if their present lifestyle would lead to that. Had the dream been some sort of a premonition? He didn't believe in that shit though…so…but then…

Connor looked away from the lounge he'd been absently staring into when he heard the bathroom door open down the hall, beyond the door of the kitchen. Murphy was done showering and the mental images of his twin with damp hair and skin and steam rising off his smooth white, lean muscled flesh stirred up a range of emotions and sexual feelings in Connor.

He didn't bother repressing them, he was alone right then, there was no need to hide the subtle flush of his skin or the small shift he had to do with his lower body when his jeans became a bit too constricting.

Connor lit another cigarette and smoked it down to the filter so quickly his throat burned.

After ten minutes of silence had passed Connor picked himself up, literally using the table to stand up because his right leg was stiff and sore and he felt so exhausted, and then he walked slowly and with small grimaces out of the kitchen and into the hall leading to the bedroom and bathroom.

He entered the bathroom and shut the door behind himself, locking it, an action he only did because Rocco was in the apartment, it wasn't just himself and Murphy anymore.

But God, how he wished he could be alone with his sibling.

Removing his rosary first and setting it down on the small counter space beside the basin, Connor sighed as he continued to undress, pulling his shirt up over his head slowly, his muscles felt stiff. After unfastening his belt and jeans, he pushed it off his waist and then he sat down on the closed toilet lid to unlace his boots with quick tugs. He maneuvered his feet out of them and paused to rub the heels of his hands into his eyes, before he toed the boots aside to where Murphy's boots laid untidily. Connor sniffed as he pulled his socks off and then his jeans were next, and he had to peel the bloody denim from his skin, gritting his teeth in upset as it clung to him.

All the while Connor was thinking of the day, the disaster, the horrible feeling that had weighed in his gut when he'd seen Murphy go down under the hail of bullets.

It made him sick to his stomach, made his hands shake.

He'd kept his stressed feelings in all night, always the one to keep it together.

Even when they'd seen Smecker on TV earlier, stating that he was in charge of the investigation, which was just more bad news for them, Connor had kept a cool head and calm facade. Murphy had been doing the same, but Connor hadn't missed the looks and glances and attempts at conversation that Murphy had been extending all evening, all of which Connor hadn't felt emotionally strong enough to deal with so he'd pretended not to notice.

And yet he felt drawn to Murphy, like he needed to be _closer_ to his twin after nearly dying together, but he hadn't allowed for the chance, choosing to overlook the needy urges because it was driven to some degree by his incestuous feelings for Murphy. He'd avoided his twin that night because of his own fears about his feelings, not even because of Rocco's presence, but just because of his own doubt in his resolve not to look, want, touch and taste.

His resolve had already been weakening before that disaster of a day and he just didn't _trust_ himself.

And **all** of it, all of the stress, the lies, the feelings, the desire, the miscommunication, the distance, it was starting to feel like an empty, cold space in his chest. It felt like something was missing, there was a constant dull ache…the longer Connor went without being able to level with Murphy, to sync up.

To connect.

Connor endured a shower, leaning most of his weight on his left leg as he washed the blood and sweat from his body and when he was done, he wrapped a towel around his waist, picked up his rosary and exited the bathroom feeling more exhausted than before. But the hot water had eased some of the tension in his muscles at the very least.

He entered the bedroom a few steps down the hall and shut the door behind him, he'd expected Murphy to be asleep but his twin was awake, sitting up in his single bed with his back to his pillows which were propped up against the wall.

Murphy was smoking, sitting in the dark with one leg drawn up and supporting his extended arm. His cigarette was sagging from the fingers of that suspended hand – the hand of his good arm, and Connor could make out that he was fiddling with the prayer beads of his rosary still worn around his neck with his other hand. Although he wasn't praying since his eyes were open and he was staring across the room at the open bedroom window.

Connor didn't bother saying anything, he was too tired to try to behave _normally_ around Murphy, especially when the entire bedroom smelled of his freshly showered twin and it was heady for Connor, driving his senses quietly crazy. So he walked slowly over to his bed and hung his rosary up before turning around and sitting on his unmade bed with a soft exhale as he kept his wounded leg straight, his back was to Murphy.

"You okay?" Murphy asked quietly.

Connor blinked sleepily and peeled his towel back from his right leg to look at his seared, enflamed skin which had bled a little onto his towel. The second degree* burn was ugly and raw and it was only thanks to Rocco's impressive collection of _illegal_ prescription drugs, stolen from Donna when they'd left Roc's apartment – drugs neither Connor nor Murphy had even known he had- that none of them would land up with an infection.

He sighed quietly,

"Aye, et's a bit stiff," he figured it being painful went without saying, "but et' should be okay tomorrow…" he answered honestly, knowing the worst of his state was attributed to emotional stress and exhaustion, "…an' you, Murph?" he turned his head slightly but didn't actually glance over his shoulder.

"M'fine."

Connor nodded to himself and cuffed a hand through his wet hair before pushing himself to stand up again, he crossed the room to their shared clothing drawers and pulled out a fresh pair of boxer shorts before heading back over to the bed and sitting down again.

He was aware of Murphy watching him but he didn't look at his twin.

When he was seated again he pulled the boxers up over his legs while sitting and then lifted his hips to get them on all the way before unfastening and removing the towel. Afterward he flopped onto his back with a sigh, stretching his legs out off of the bed as he lay horizontally and he brought his hands up to run them through his hair and down over his face, reminding himself mentally that he needed to dress his burn before he fell asleep.

He had closed his eyes for a minute…until he felt a dip on his bed and Connor opened his eyes and turned his head to find Murphy sitting on the opposite side of his bed near his head, bent forward, elbows on his knees and his rosary hanging from his neck.

Connor just stared at him, taking in a quiet breath at the closer scent and sight of him.

He hadn't been able to really see Murphy through the darkness in the room when he walked in, but now, this much closer, Murphy sitting a foot from his head, Connor could see him clearly.

He was wearing only a pair of dark boxers, his hair was still wet and a few small water droplets were slowly sliding down onto his face and neck. Connor tracked one drop down the back of his neck, slowly over his nape until it disappeared, probably moving down Murphy's smooth back, along his spine.

The angle he was looking from didn't allow him to see that but he imagined it…vividly, picturing – so wrongly – in his tired mind, catching that water droplet with his tongue as he'd lick slowly upward along Murphy's spine.

Connor swallowed thickly, blinked slowly, he had a clear view of Murphy's bandaged wound on his left arm…and slowly his eyes wandered to the pale skin of Murphy's naked side – skin that would be silky under his fingertips-, and further down to the muscled line of Murphy's thigh settled on the soft mattress – muscle which would be firm under a caress- and Connor could smell the soap and shampoo and cigarette smoke on his twin. All sights and scents creating a swell of love and heat that settled in his chest and lower body all at once.

Filling his senses, charging his nerves, clouding his judgment.

He was so tired…of being afraid of how he felt.

"We could have been killed today." Murphy said quietly.

Connor blinked twice and refocused on his twin's face, his awareness returning at the sound of Murphy's voice,

"Aye." His voice was a quiet rasp since his throat was raw from the last hour he'd spent chain smoking too much too quickly.

"Would we be in heaven now, if we had been?" Murphy didn't look at him, voice quiet and flat, blue eyes focused on the floor.

Connor stared up at him as he frowned lightly, he hated the kinds of questions he couldn't definitively answer for his twin, but he had to answer, he had to say something,

"Whatever could or will happen te' us, Murph, et'll be God's will." He settled on what he thought Murphy needed to hear.

But Murphy snorted and looked down at him, blue eyes seemingly dark for the lack of light reflecting in them,

"Yeh' don't even believe that anymore." He mumbled.

Connor didn't do it consciously but he did it, he looked over Murphy's face, over his lips, down to his neck, his shoulder and slowly back up as he spoke quietly,

"O'course I do." He said with no conviction whatsoever.

"Don't lie, Connor." Murphy shook his head.

Murphy's annoyed tone made Connor look directly into his twin's eyes,

"I'm not lying, Murph…" he sat up slightly, leaning on his elbow and shifting to lie on his side, careful of his leg and facing Murphy, "…I've just been needing time te' get my head together is all, I've not lost my faith." He reassured.

He was so tired…so distracted by Murphy's closeness and having a hard time keeping his mind on track.

As it was Connor's face was now a hand's distance from Murphy's upper arm, his warm skin, his wound beneath a blood spotted bandage…and the temptation to kiss it was strong…

…shit…Connor forced himself away from that trail of thought, he resisted the urge and sat up properly, back facing Murphy again and his twin sitting likewise as Connor pressed his fingers into his eyes. Stressed.

"We could have been killed today…" Murphy repeated, "…an' yer' still lying te' me, still avoiding…" he sighed shortly, "…if yeh' don't want me around yeh', Connor, then just say so fer' Christ's sake."

That was the opposite of what Connor wanted, the opposite of what he needed.

The force of need with which he'd been feeling drawn to Murphy by lately was dizzying and confusing and wrong, but he couldn't tell his twin that.

Still, Connor didn't want to push him away, not further than he already had.

Connor stood up slowly, grimacing slightly at the ache in his leg as he turned to face Murphy's back where his twin sat on the opposite side of the bed,

"Don't be fuckin' schupid, Murph, yer' my brother, I need you…yeh' know that…" Murphy looked at him sidelong, his expression somewhere between tense and sad, his eyes guarding his emotions only just and Connor knew then that Murphy needed to hear him say it, to say what was wrong between them but Connor _couldn't_, so he tried to make up an excuse, "…et's been hard te' talk, we haven't been alone much an-…"

"We're alone right now…" Murphy stood up quickly, turned to face him, "…Rocco's not wakin' up anytime soon and he sure as fuckin' hell can't hear us talkin', so tell me Connor, tell me what's been makin' yeh' act so fuckin' weird?" He asked straightforwardly and Connor tensed, clenching his jaw absently.

Murphy was leaving no room for excuses, he was even speaking in hushed tones, keeping calm.

"I'll even lock the fuckin' door fer' yeh'…" Murphy said and he walked forward and around the bed toward the door but Connor stopped him with a light touch to his arm as he went to pass,

"Murphy-…" he huffed out.

"**No** bullshit, Connor…" his twin turned to face him properly, a foot away and the length of his lean body tense, "…I want te' know." He said firmly, eyes narrowed.

"Yeh' want te' know what?" Connor snapped, his tone quiet but harsh and he felt defensive now as he looked away from Murphy's intense stare but Murphy surprised him by grabbing his jaw so he couldn't turn away,

"Fer' starters, why the hell yeh' can't even fuckin' **look** at me anymore…?" Connor pushed his twin's hand off as his skin burned and tingled pleasantly from the brief touch.

Jesus, Connor had thought he could handle this but apparently not, especially not in the state he was in, after the day he'd had, not with Murphy so near to being fucking naked.

There was too much closeness, too much skin…too much had happened.

"Look at me Connor, or tell me why yeh' can't." Murphy pressed as he continued to avoid Murphy's eyes, said twin shoving at Connor's bare shoulder to turn him to face him. And with every touch Connor just wanted to grab Murphy, bring him close, skin to skin, breath to breath and to say '_Because I fucking want you…', _but he _couldn't_, no, he **had** to walk away.

So he did, deliberately he walked away, putting space between himself and Murphy.

He could feel Murphy's unease building, it was a steady buzz in his ears as Connor went to stand near the window, heart beating wildly, mouth dry and tension mounting in his body.

He was so tired…

He heard Murphy huff, sounding incredulous at Connor's action of walking away before he spoke again,

"Yeh' seem fine and then yeh' don't and then yeh' won't look me in the eye and et's _never_ been like this before. I don't fuckin' know what te' do." Murphy was talking evenly, still sounding mostly calm, if a bit emotional, "I tried givin' yeh' space, I didn't ask yeh' or nag yeh' about et' but fer' how long, Connor, huh, how long is et' going te' be like this?"

That was true, it had never been that bad between them and it hurt, deep in Connor's chest and he knew Murphy was hurting too.

Connor finally turned around to look at Murphy and their eyes met, blue on blue.

Murphy had come closer, he was a meter away, his broad shoulders tense, his fine eyebrows drawn together in a light frown, his pale, soft lips in a straight line and his eyes appeared crystalline as they caught the light shining in from the window behind Connor.

Murphy was _gorgeous_…the realization reoccurred to Connor at the same time as Murphy's restraint apparently broke. He stepped closer and then the gap between them was closed and he was hugging Connor, one arm around Connor's shoulders and the other tucked around his bare torso.

Connor and Murphy _didn't_ hug.

The last time they'd properly hugged had been back in Ireland, when they'd been young teenagers, Connor couldn't even recall the reason for it.

So why…why the contact right then when they were near naked and Connor was going through the hardest, most disturbing emotional and physical shit he'd ever experienced in his life, **why…?**

Was God testing him?

Connor knew he'd fail… he knew he was not strong enough…

"We could have been killed today…" Murphy said _again_ –warm breath- against Connor's bare shoulder, his twin's hold unrelenting, "…an' yeh've been acting like _I'm not even here_, Connor." His voice was breathy and his words muffled against Connor's skin.

But Connor heard him loud and clear.

Connor frowned deeply as guilt flooded his mind and that emotion mixed right in with his panic, his love, his inappropriate arousal from everywhere Murphy's skin and body was close and touching…it was chaos in his head for a few seconds before he closed his eyes against the noise and embraced his twin around his torso, hugging Murphy, holding him close and tight.

Reconnecting.

He had been practically _ignoring_ Murphy since they'd returned to the apartment after the job and he should have known his twin would feel it, would **hate** it, especially after what they'd been through.

Murphy apparently had needed to bridge the gap between them just as badly, Connor should have known.

He inhaled quietly against the soap scented skin of Murphy's neck as the quiet settled in around them along with the cool breeze from the open window. Connor felt the damp residue of water droplets on Murphy's neck, against his lips, against his chin. He felt the smooth skin of his twin's back under his rough palms, he felt the strength of Murphy's arms, of his tight hold and the continuous warmth of Murphy's breath against his shoulder.

He felt the sensations _everywhere_. It was heavenly…yet so fucking evil.

Murphy drew back after a minute, not all at once, strangely enough he moved slowly so his hand rested on Connor's shoulder for a second and then he stepped back fully and for a moment Connor was at a loss as to the reason for the irritated look Murphy was giving him. And then his twin pushed his jaw out slightly, for no reason Connor could understand, he was pissed off.

Murphy gestured at Connor,

"See, I don't get et', I thought I knew what et' was in the beginning, so I told yeh' and you _denied_ et'. And I couldn't think of any other reason fer' yer' restless sleepin', yer' frustration, you wanting time alone so often, but I _was_ right." He was speaking quietly but his tone was clipped.

Connor frowned, raising his hands at his sides with his palms upturned,

"Whatre' yeh' on about, Murph?" his mind and body were still catching up after the influx of feelings and when Murphy gestured to his lower body Connor stopped breathing,

"I'm talkin' about the fact that yeh' need te' get laid, Connor." He said it so plainly, so innocently, so fucking cluelessly, "I keep tellin' yeh' that if you want te' I won't hold et' against yeh'." He pointed at Connor and rubbed his other fingers over his mouth before he cocked his eyebrow, "Do what yeh' need te' do, Conn, but just get yer' shit together cause' et' can't stay like this between us."

Connor stared stunned at his twin, he hadn't even noticed that he was hard, he'd just felt really, **really** good holding Murphy but he should have known, he should have been careful, mindful, he shouldn't have hugged Murphy back.

Shouldn't have gotten that close.

He felt angry all of a sudden, even though Murphy seemed to take his erection as a general manifestation of pent up sexual frustration and his twin was unknowingly giving him a way out of a _horrible_ situation, Connor felt his emotions flare up, he felt sick and tired of **lying** just as Murphy kept accusing.

And Murphy was right, Connor didn't believe he was going to heaven anyway.

With a tense throat he started to say,

"Murph-…"

"Don't even fuckin' start, Connor, just be honest with me an' stop being so full o'shit."

"Murphy…" Connor said again, more firmly, stepping away from the window and approaching his edgy twin. Murphy watched him come closer but didn't move away or say anything and despite thinking that words might be the safer alternative to his honesty, Connor chose actions. Because he was already sinning and one more didn't feel like it would make his inevitable sentence in hell any more daunting.

So he placed his hand on the back of Murphy's head once he was close enough, fingers sliding into his twin's dark, damp hair and Murphy didn't react, he didn't pull away, he didn't _suspect_ what Connor wanted, **needed**.

"Murph, s'not what yeh' think…" he said honestly, quietly, looking Murphy directly in the eye,

"Oh no?" this was said with quiet sarcasm, "Just what the fuck is et', then?"

As if to steady himself through the impending emotional impact of his physical confession, Connor raised his other hand and he held the side of Murphy's neck –Murphy's eyes narrowed- before he pulled Murphy into him as he leaned in himself.

He kissed Murphy that time with more confidence, lips flush against lips, noses pressing together at a slight angle.

The action was firm and undeniable, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Now Murphy would know. Now Connor was vulnerable. Exposed.

In that moment, he was **completely **in Murphy's hands.

He held onto the kiss for as many seconds as he could and exhaled slowly as the blissful sensation of it washed over him…whereas Murphy didn't breathe. And when Connor slowly opened his eyes from the fear he'd shut them with, he watched as first confusion flashed in Murphy's eyes and then realization accompanied by raised eyebrows and then a deep frown…right before Murphy's hands gripped Connor's shoulders and pushed him back to separate their mouths.

Their lips parted with a faint smacking sound. God, it was so wrong a sound and yet so good that Connor felt simultaneously sick and aroused…and then scared, because Murphy was staring at him. He hadn't taken a single step away, but the deep frown was in place and his lips were parted in silent shock.

Connor swallowed thickly and just stood there, breathing shallowly, heart beating rapidly, stomach fluttering, maintaining eye contact, waiting…

Then Murphy's mouth closed, he visibly swallowed and he raised his hands to remove Connor's from touching him.

Connor didn't hold on, he let his hands fall at his sides as the fluttering in his stomach turned to a cold weight.

Murphy's eyes moved between Connor and a random place off to the side a few times before he looked Connor dead in the eye again and raised an eyebrow,

"How long?" he asked quietly.

Connor wasn't having trouble looking at Murphy now, not with his secret out in the open,

"Probably longer than when I actually realized et'." He said honestly, quietly.

Not sure what to expect.

Murphy looked away awkwardly, an odd expression of uncertainty and worry crossing his face.

Connor knew he had to comfort his twin as best he could after such a revelation between them,

"I'm not askin' yeh' fer' anything, Murph, I wouldn't ever, not fer' somethin' like this," Murphy looked at him again so he continued to speak honestly, feeling relief at Murphy's reaction having not been disgust and rebuke, "I just didn't know if I could tell yeh', I didn't know if yeh'd hate me fer' et'." He admitted.

Murphy continued to stare at him and after a short while he shook his head,

"I don't hate yeh'." He said it so quietly Connor almost missed it even with how close they stood.

"…good." Connor said weakly, forcing a smile, "That's good, Murph, et's a relief."

Connor nodded after a few more seconds of awkward silence and then he decided to put some distance between them. Despite the new feeling of loss and hollowness he felt, Connor did feel better that Murphy knew what had been the problem, he was relieved that Murphy didn't hate him and he could only hope that the confession wouldn't change anything between them.

But he feared it, because only naivety could convince him that nothing would change, and he was **not** naïve.

He was limping toward his bed with an emotional ache in his entire body when Murphy spoke,

"Et's a mortal sin, Connor."

"So is murder, Murphy." He shot back instantly, unable to help the bitterness he felt at having that pointed out to him. He was upset over his situation, deeply, but he knew he had no right to be.

"That's done by God's calling." Murphy responded.

Connor snorted derisively, letting his bitterness seep into his tone,

"Aye, but et' doesn't change the fact that et's a mortal sin, we still have te' repent fer' et'," he turned around to look at his twin's back, "…an' what happens when we stop feeling remorseful fer' takin' a man's life, Murphy? Do yeh' even feel bad as you stand right now, did yeh' feel bad when et' was happening?" he was starting to get worked up, "In the end we're just fuckin' sinning, Murphy." He said harshly.

Murphy turned around now too and they looked at one another, Murphy looked conflicted and Connor was frustrated,

"Et's not the same thing, Connor." He said quietly, with a hint of hesitation.

"Oh aye, but et' is…" Connor said with false smugness, "…if I can be forgiven, can be given absolution fer' _murdering_ men in _cold_ blood then I can be forgiven fer'…" he found he couldn't say it for what it was out aloud, "…fer' this sin too." He settled for gesturing between them. And then he let himself be as open as he could about what he felt, openly displaying his emotions on his face as he looked at Murphy, "Fer' lovin' yeh' as much as I do, Murphy." His voice pitched slightly when he said the last part.

Murphy averted his eyes, glancing around as he ran a hand through his hair, their eyes having long since adjusted to the dark, Connor could see that he was stressed, frowning, thinking about Connor's words as he chewed on the inside of his lip.

Connor felt weak and his chest hurt, so he sat down at the foot of his bed and absently rubbed his hand over his left thigh, up and down, breathing deeply and fighting off the surge of emotions threatening to crawl up out of his throat.

"Yer' serious then," Murphy broke the silence and Connor looked at him, he'd been staring at the floor with a frown, "this is really what yeh've been wanting, what's been comin' between us?" Murphy asked, speaking just audibly.

Connor stared at him and nodded slowly,

"…make's sense now, doesn't et'?" he tried to smile again as he looked down at the burnt skin on his thigh.

"Aye…" Murphy answered quietly.

Connor sighed heavily and was about to pull himself up properly onto the bed to try and get some sleep –and try his hardest not to cry- when Murphy said something that threw him.

"Okay."

Connor looked at him again, confused, and placed the single foot he'd raised back on the carpeted floor, watching as Murphy walked over to him. Murphy swiped the back of his hand over his nose and mouth and then sat down next to him at the foot of the bed carefully, slowly.

"What?" Connor asked with a baffled frown.

Murphy looked at him closely, seriously…sincerely and then he nodded,

"I said…okay." He repeated quietly, his expression accepting but nervous.

Connor's stomach was doing flips upon flips and his breath was thinning out,

"Okay…what?" he narrowed his eyes.

Murphy sighed and raised a tentative hand, placing it at the side of Connor's neck as Connor had done to him,

"_Okay_, if et's what yeh' need, Connor." And he hesitated to lean in…but did so anyway.

Connor blanched, his mind reeled and he jerked his head back, grabbing Murphy's wrist lightly as he stared straight into Murphy's lightly frowning face and sincere blue eyes,

"Have yeh' fuckin' lost et'?" he shook his head, feeling all kinds of messed up over what Murphy had just said, all kinds of desperate to throw away his decency and just take what Murphy was offering, to just lean in and taste his twin's mouth properly, _devour_ it. Connor clenched his teeth and absently squeezed Murphy's wrist, "I just told yeh' this is **my** problem, I'm not asking yeh' fer' anything." His voice was tight with emotion.

"No, you aren't," Murphy paused and lowered his voice, "I'm…givin' et' to yeh'." He said somewhat awkwardly.

Jesus fucking Christ…Connor wanted to kiss him.

Connor wanted to kiss his breath away, bite his lips, suck on his tongue, ravage his mouth...

But he couldn't take that from his twin, not _just_ because Murphy was selfless enough to give it. And why the fuck was he even willing to give it? Was it out of pity? A sense of obligation? Wasn't he disgusted at the _idea_?

Connor ran his free hand over his face before regarding his twin again,

"Murphy…s'much as I…" he paused on a breath, eyes trailing over Murphy's lips as he squeezed his wrist, "…as I want te' accept, I can't have yeh' doin' somethin' yeh' don't want just because I do want et'." He said sincerely, the words felt like sand paper in his throat.

Murphy's gaze intensified further, he looked at Connor with all of his attention, all of his honesty and despite the nervousness in his tone he sounded sure,

"Et's always been that if you wanted et', I did too, an' vice versa, Connor." He started and Connor wanted to tell him that that was a bullshit excuse in a situation that serious but Murphy didn't give him a chance, "And even if I don't know that I want this, or that I can even really give et' to yeh'…" his tone was quieter now, "…I can't go te' heaven without yeh', Connor, an' I'd follow yeh' te' hell. Remember…chuardach mé do m'anam , ach m'anam ní raibh mé in ann a fheiceáil." (I searched for my soul, but my soul I could not see.)

Connor frowned but filled in as expected at Murphy's purposeful pause,

"Chuardach mé do mo Dhia, ach tá mo Dhia eluded dom." (I searched for my God, but my God eluded me.) He added quietly.

Murphy wasn't smiling but his tone was still sincere as they finished together,

"Chuardach mé do mo deartháir agus fuair mé go léir trí." (I searched for my brother and I found all three.)

It was a saying they'd often recited as young boys, something their Ma had never approved of, she used to call it blasphemy. But for Connor and Murphy it had rung truer than anything the bible had ever told them about love and family. It still did.

Murphy didn't look like he was saying anything he didn't mean with absolute certainty and Connor's resolve to deny himself those lips, that kiss and taste was getting weaker the longer Murphy stared at him expectantly.

He searched his twin's blue eyes, struggling to believe what was really happening, and slid his hand so he was holding Murphy's hand instead of his wrist, his will crumbling, his heart racing,

"Murph, if yeh'…" Connor breathed out, then swallowed, his emotions, excitement, love and fear all warring for a place in his chest, "…if yeh' don't want te', if yeh'…if yeh' _can't_, then yeh' say so an' don't-…"

"Aye, Connor…" Murphy said evenly, voice still quiet and he was somehow managing to be Connor's anchor when Connor should have been the one reassuring Murphy.

And then Murphy was waiting, he was waiting for something…for a kiss?

It would probably be a test for Murphy, a trial run to see if he _could_ kiss Connor, or at least that's what Connor guessed as his heart palpitated and the lines of his brotherhood, religion and morals all blurred together.

As it sunk in that it was real and that he had permission to **kiss** Murphy, Connor was having trouble breathing because this was it, this was what he'd been so afraid of yet had wanted and needed for so long now. Murphy was allowing him…closer.

Murphy was allowing incest between them.

Connor felt both guilty and pathetically grateful for the love his brother had for him, truly unconditional.

He stared into Murphy's eyes and then at his mouth and Murphy subconsciously licked his lips and took a small breath in through his nose, watching Connor closely, watching Connor watching him.

And there was no reason left to hesitate so Connor chose not to but he wouldn't rush it either.

He would savor it.

He brought his free hand up and again smoothed it into the hair at the nape of Murphy's neck, where his twin's hair felt so soft and cool against his fingers and then Connor leaned in, slow enough that Murphy could pull away if he wanted to. And when Murphy didn't but instead leaned in just slightly, Connor kissed his lips once softly and paused, swallowing thickly before he drew back and looked into Murphy's unreadable gaze,

"I love yeh', Murphy." His voice was nearly a whisper.

Murphy didn't say anything, and if he'd been intending to, Connor didn't allow him because he kissed him again, just lips, sealed and smooth and warm and with soft exhales of breaths over each other's faces.

Murphy's hitching and Connor's in bliss.

Connor wanted it to be slow, like he'd imagined sometimes when he allowed his thoughts to get carried away.

So he kissed Murphy softly that way a few times, just presses of their mouths, slow draw backs, small head tilts and brushes of their lips. And when Murphy's eyes finally started to drift closed and his lips puckered a few times to return the kisses, Connor felt a powerful wave of arousal move through him and he let his tongue slide out and gently he licked along the inner seam of Murphy's lips which were already slightly parted.

Jesus fucking Christ. It took all of Connor's strength not to just overwhelm Murphy's mouth, just the sensation alone of his tongue sliding against Murphy's lips hardened his cock to full mast.

Murphy breathed shakily after the touch of Connor's tongue, his eyes opened again briefly and he looked into Connor's for a few seconds before he swallowed, parted his lips a little further and leaned back in. Connor stifled a moan when Murphy's mouth pressed to his with a soft inhale, their sets of lips both open just enough to feel warm, moist breath and wetness from the other, and it was the most incredible sensation for Connor, despite the joining of their mouths being a bit uneven.

Neither had kissed another person in years and Connor wondered if Murphy was as overwhelmed as he felt.

Connor waited –impatiently and desperately- for a few seconds as Murphy adjusted, breathing shakily against his mouth and then Connor offered his tongue _gently_, sliding it slowly into Murphy's mouth and Connor did moan that time when his deeper kiss was accepted by the further parting of his twin's lips as Murphy's eyes slid closed again.

He was unable to help the sound he made, the absent grip he took on Murphy's hair, the tightness with which he squeezed Murphy's hand…when the warm, wetness of Murphy's tongue and mouth was finally there for him to taste.

And Murphy tasted pleasantly bitter from smoking, a strong burning flavor that Connor was familiar with.

Connor pressed forward eagerly and he covered his mouth over Murphy's as gently as he could as his arousal started to impair his control. His tongue crossed into Murphy's mouth with several slow, deep strokes, moving confidently against Murphy's own more hesitant licks.

Connor released his twin's hand and instead held Murphy's face with both hands as they continued to kiss and he tilted Murphy's head to accommodate his angles as he led the kiss, becoming slightly rougher the more he tasted, the more Murphy's breath hitched and the more turned on Connor felt by the second.

Murphy was _divine_, the warm, wetness of his mouth, the quiver of his breath, the slide of his tongue and lips…

Connor kissed and sucked on Murphy's lips and tongue hard enough to leave red blotches on his mouth, he also used his teeth on the occasional draw back for air and within a few minutes Murphy was breathing heavily into his mouth and Connor had never so badly in his life wanted to intimately touch another human being as he did Murphy right then.

His own aroused state didn't even matter, he wanted to put his hands on **Murphy**, everywhere.

But Connor was not completely lost to his twin's state, it was impossible to be when their minds were connected and aside from the current of anxiety buzzing in his ears, he noticed something in Murphy's deep breathing as he raked his blunt nails up into Murphy's hair. It was uneven, shaken, and Murphy's one hand was pressed to the front of Connor's shoulder, just over his collarbone.

Connor realized then, when he took a moment to press a kiss to Murphy's mole, that the hand against his collarbone was a _barrier_, a way for Murphy to control the extent of the kissing while allowing Connor to do as much as Murphy could stand.

The hand was an 'in case' measure. Stationary and firm against Connor's skin.

Connor paused with his mouth inches from Murphy's irritated red, kiss-swollen lips as he swallowed thickly and reined his arousal in so he could think straight. It wasn't that Murphy hadn't been kissing him back, because he had, but when Connor stopped ravaging his twin's mouth long enough to think about it, he realized he'd been doing most of the kissing whereas Murphy had been intermediately participating.

Connor felt a bit sick with worry and guilt as he pressed a light kiss to Murphy's cheek, then he brushed his lips from the mole to Murphy's mouth and he opened his blue eyes to find Murphy looking at him as he whispered,

"I'm sorry…" he rasped out, "…got a bit carried away, yeh' should've said." He continued quietly, stroking his thumbs over Murphy's ears.

Murphy sniffed and Connor suspected that the buildup of pressure inside his chest was the weight of their combined emotions right then,

"I would've," his hand eased up on Connor's shoulder, "I will…if I need teh'." He said back very quietly, obviously affected on an emotional level by what had just transpired but still maintaining eye contact which comforted Connor.

Connor wondered what Murphy was thinking after having just been kissing his own brother, he doubted it was the same as he felt, which was incredible, amazed, aroused and so fucking in love…still, Connor had to say,

"I'll never force yeh' Murph, I'll never insist." He tried to comfort his twin.

"I know, so shut up..." Murphy sighed and then he leaned forward so their foreheads pressed together and their breathing slowly synchronized.

Murphy's hand moved from Connor's collarbone to hold the side of his face just as Connor was doing to him.

"Connor…" Murphy said after a moment of silence.

"Aye?" he responded, wanting to kiss Murphy again but refraining and also trying to will away his straining erection tenting his boxer shorts, feeling rightful traces of shame at his physical state and grateful that Murphy was _pretending_ not to notice.

Connor felt so pathetic.

"We need to go te' church." Murphy said quietly but insistently.

Connor tensed, clenched his jaw and forced down his sudden nausea at the mention of church while he sat with a raging hard on for his own brother.

He steeled his nerves though, knowing he couldn't deny Murphy that anymore. Connor sniffed and nodded, rubbing their foreheads together lightly,

"Aye, in the morning. I promise yeh'…" and he meant it.

* * *

><p><em>Rain, it wets muddy roads<em>  
><em> I find myself exposed<em>  
><em> Tapping doors, but irritate<em>  
><em> In search of destination...<em>

* * *

><p>Connor only thought about it when they'd settled into their separate beds a short while later, that Murphy had been wearing his rosary the entire time…and holding onto it throughout their kiss.<p>

He shut his eyes tightly against the rising sickness he felt for what he should not have allowed Murphy to do for him and pressed his face into his pillow.

Guilt, so much fucking guilt.

It overwhelmed any good feelings he'd experienced that night and Connor knew he wouldn't get any sleep.

Still, he swore he'd let Murphy have his peace in church the following day. And in the meantime, he would not sleep, so he would not dream of regrets and fear and rejection.

But he would lay awake wondering what would happen between them after Murphy had been to church.

And he would lay awake with the pleasantly bitter taste of Murphy's mouth on his tongue all night, hoping desperately that he would get to kiss his brother again…and again and again.

* * *

><p><em>Kosketa minua<br>Älä käsilläsi  
>Vaan niin että tunnen sinut<br>Halaa minua  
>Älä käsilläsi<br>Mutta sielussasi_

_(Touch me)  
>(Not with your hands)<br>(But so that I feel you)  
>(Hug me)<br>(Not with your hands)  
>(But within your soul)<em>

* * *

><p><strong>*Judging by the cauterization method and how the twins managed the aftermath, I have decided to assume that their burns are second degree (deep partial thickness).<strong>

**-End Lyrics are in Finnish**


	9. Chapter 8

**NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly. **

**Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale**

**Movie Verse:** **First Movie; Pre Canon - Canon / Canon Deviation**

**Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Conner and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.**

**NB: THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED TO REMOVE CERTAIN EXPLICIT CONTENT, to read the full chapter visit my AO3 page. The link is available on my FF profile.**

**- I'd like to thank Lyson (who has drawn for my fanfiction before) for the artwork they've done for Deartháir, it can be viewed via the link on my profile or on AO3, chapter seven of Deartháir.**

**Sub note: The AO3 upload has additional images.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

* * *

><p><em>My love, my life, my work, my time<em>  
><em>I give them all to you<em>  
><em>Your hand in mine, we walk, we talk in rhyme<em>  
><em>We go the whole night through...<em>

_I wanna be with you_  
><em>I just wanna be with you<em>

* * *

><p>As promised, Connor woke up a few short hours later when dawn had just broken –Murphy only a minute after him- and he got Rocco up and told him to drive them into Back Bay, to a church.<p>

Rocco grumbled about it but an hour later they were all dressed, refreshed –as much as Rocco could be with a hangover- and they were driving out of South Boston. After doing some discussing and deciding in the car they found a church to go to, fairly large but also not a busy one considering the time of morning.

As they were pulling up along the curb, Connor got out of the car before it came to a complete stop, he hadn't smoked yet which made him irritable and restless, plus he was feeling a little too unsettled and anxious to smoke at the moment.

The night before had been a **huge **deal to Connor and yet Murphy was acting **normal**, unaffected, as if nothing had happened.

Now, Connor knew Murphy had been sober the night before since neither of them had been drinking and the antibiotics and pain meds they'd taken had not been enough to impair Murphy's cognizance. So he couldn't assume that Murphy didn't remember kissing him, especially for the fact that they'd kissed for a few _minutes_…

…_really, properly_ kissed. Connor would have called it 'making out' if he'd still been a teenager.

But Murphy had woken up that morning, looked at him as per usual and Connor had held his gaze, nervously, and he'd received no bad vibes, no confusion, no tension. And he and Murphy had aligned mentally with ease they hadn't felt in days before Murphy had announced that he needed to take a piss and he'd left the bedroom without another word.

They'd all skipped breakfast, no coffee or sodas or beers and Rocco and Murphy had talked about missing fingers, headaches and the necessity of church during the drive into Back Bay…

…all the while Connor kept quiet, guilty thoughts tripping over themselves in his chaotic, stressed mind.

Presently, he'd stopped walking at the church doors to glance back, Rocco had said something to Murphy as they'd exited the car and Connor watched Murphy pat Rocco's cheek lightly after saying something before he left the car and approached the church doors.

Connor pulled the door open and stepped inside, Murphy only a few steps behind and then they walked as they'd done many times, side by side down the aisle toward the back of the church.

They reached the very back pew of the blessedly empty church and Murphy stepped into it as he pulled his rosary out of his shirt. Connor removed his sunglasses and then took his rosary out of his shirt as well whilst Murphy glanced around before getting down on his knees, bowing his head, closing his eyes and sinking into prayer.

Connor sat down low in his seat beside where his twin knelt, it seemed Murphy wasn't expecting him to pray with him and since he didn't particularly feel like he was ready to ask for forgiveness yet, felt as though he wouldn't truly mean it, Connor chose not to.

The important thing was that he was there with Murphy, within reaching and hearing and feeling distance. That was what Murphy had needed and after what he'd given Connor the night before, Connor would do anything he could for his twin because he was quite certain he would never be able to give Murphy back **as** much as that single kiss –along with its volumes of trust and love- had given Connor.

Murphy had accepted his confession, he'd soothed Connor's vulnerability, reconnected their bond…

It had been beautiful, sinful, but beautiful.

He only hoped Murphy was really okay.

Connor watched his twin as his lips, those finely shaped lips, moved in quiet prayer and Murphy's hands moved over the beads of his rosary. Connor was tempted to reach out and pet the back of his head but he knew better and he would _not_ touch his brother with such wrongful intent during prayer and even worse, in a church. Speaking of which, he shook his head slightly to clear his impure and unholy thoughts for that moment and instead fingered his rosary, considering maybe doing some praying.

He could still pray, he could always pray, even if he wouldn't have the gall to ask for forgiveness just yet.

Before he could decide though, he glanced up when the church doors opened. Ever cautious, Connor remained seated but bowed his head to hide himself until he and Murphy could get out of the church if need be.

After a few seconds he heard some noises at the front of the church but when he glanced up he didn't see anyone. Connor looked around the pews to confirm that the place was still empty and then he frowned but he felt relieved.

That was, until the church doors opened again and that time Connor kept an eye on the front of the church and when he spotted Rocco walking in and looking distinctly suspicious about something, Connor tensed.

He watched as a priest walked by Rocco toward the confessionals and when Connor saw Rocco grab and shove the priest into the confessional, closing the door behind them, Connor's eyes widened in silent shock,

'_…__the fuck is he doing?'_ he moved to get up, not in a hurry since he didn't want to disturb Murphy.

Connor didn't believe even Rocco was stupid enough to walk into a church and threaten a priest, especially with himself and Murphy so close by, did he have a fucking death wish? Connor would oblige if it came down to that.

He glanced back at Murphy's praying form when he reached the front of the church and when he saw his twin still oblivious, Connor went to open the first confessional door on the left side, but he stopped and listened when he heard snoring coming from inside of it. So Connor moved on and past the middle door that he knew the priest and Rocco were on the other side of and he entered the empty right side confessional quietly.

As soon as he was inside, Connor could hear Rocco's voice through the wood partition telling the priest to 'shut the fuck up' and Connor immediately pushed his fingers through the material lattice, into the hollowed out cross of the partition. He began slowly pushing it open, listening as Rocco told the priest to open the left side partition and then threaten to _shoot_ the priest if he didn't listen.

Connor clenched his jaw as he quietly opened the slide and then when he had it nearly right out of the way he pulled his gun out and looked at the back of Rocco's head as it was becoming more and more visible. He heard the priest ask Rocco if he had no fear of God and Rocco claimed he was doing it for God.

Connor humorlessly thought that Rocco should have a fear of what he would do to the dumb Italian himself if he hurt the priest…and he absently wondered just what Murphy had told Rocco about their new 'job' if Rocco claimed to be doing this for God.

In the next second, the priest opened the left sliding partition as Rocco had instructed and Connor quickly thrust his hand through the lattice and grabbed a firm, painful handful of Rocco's hair and yanked his head all the way back into the right side confessional before he pressed his gun firmly to Rocco's temple.

He was **pissed off**, Rocco was acting so fucking stupid it was making it hard to allow him to stick around,

"You fuckin' let him go, or I will drop yeh' right fuckin' now." Connor threatened as quietly as he could but he knew the priest had probably heard him and he could see that Rocco still had his hands on the priest and his gun rested against the holy man's head.

Rocco had the nerve to tell him to _calm down _so Connor cocked the hammer of his gun back to make a point that that was as calm as he was going to get.

"He could hurt us brother, he could ruin the whole thing." Rocco whispered.

Calling Connor _brother_ was bad enough on its own, sure Rocco was like family but _not_ like a brother, but what was worse was that he said it while holding a gun to a priest's head and claiming that the priest could hurt them.

Connor gripped Rocco's hair tighter and pressed his gun sorely against the Italian's head,

"You let him go or I will deliver you right fuckin' here." Connor threatened and he **meant** it.

"You won't do it…" Rocco was trying his patience, "…you won't Connor, you love me man…"

It only made him angrier that Rocco would use the fact that he cared about him as a bargaining chip, but it changed nothing, Connor would shoot him, because killing a priest was not going to go unpunished, ever.

He was just about to let Rocco know with a sworn word to God that he **would**, when a garbled 'Hello' came from the left end confessional. Connor paused and stared through the lattice at the back of the priest's head. He knew it hadn't been the priest who spoke and he'd also known there was some guy sleeping in the other confessional, so it had to be him that had spoken.

He breathed quietly but heavily as he held Rocco's head at the awkward, painful angle and he listened.

The priest started talking when the _other_ man asked if he was there and then Rocco whispered to the priest not to fuck up. Connor frowned, glancing from Rocco to the priest as he wondered just what the fuck he'd missed. And as the priest continued talking to the man in the other confessional, Connor's eyes widened when he recognized the voice.

It was Paul Smecker, the FBI agent.

Connor realized then that Rocco must have seen the man come into the church and had followed him, probably intending to kill him. Yet another reason to get pissed off at Rocco, because just the evening before both he and Murphy had told Rocco that Smecker was a good man, he was off limits.

Smecker sounded groggy and slurred and Connor could only assume the man was probably drunk, no other reason for wandering into a church when you're an unreligious man who isn't seeking salvation. But Connor listened to the agent as he spoke to the priest, drunk or not, while holding onto Rocco and after a short while what Smecker had to say got interesting.

The FBI agent was apparently on their side. Smecker believed in what the twins were doing, he believed it was righteous and justified. And when Smecker stated that Rocco, the Italian guy, was an idiot after the priest asked about them, Connor couldn't help tugging on Rocco's hair just to make him wince in pain.

Connor felt bad for the priest when he was forced to say what Smecker needed to hear, in a way the priest was giving approval, stating that Connor and Murphy's actions would be condoned and accepted by God, when Connor knew they wouldn't be and so did the priest. Connor did believe that God had entrusted them with the duty of getting rid of evil, but he also knew they'd taken to it too easily, enjoyed it too much and while they were doing a good deed, their hearts were not pure.

Especially Connor's.

Connor had hope though, that Murphy would still be able to receive absolution from God in the end, when their time to die inevitably came, but Connor didn't believe in it for himself.

Especially not after kissing Murphy the night before and having felt the true depth of his emotional and sexual feelings for his brother. Connor knew he would never see heaven…at least not the Almighty's heaven.

But Murphy was like his own private heaven. And somehow there was no competition. He would choose Murphy. Every time.

Connor refocused when Smecker said definitively that **he would help them**.

It would be invaluable to have a police agent, especially an FBI one, on their side and he felt a sense of relief from hearing those words, and the second he heard Smecker stumble out of the left end confessional Connor de-cocked his gun and shoved Rocco's head back through the partition roughly. Connor walked out quickly, slamming the confessional door behind him, relieved because of Smecker but pissed at Rocco's continued stupidity.

Connor walked out of the church, glancing down the street both ways and when he saw Smecker staggering off into the distance he sighed and dug into his coat pockets for his cigarettes and lighter, feeling the _need_ for one right then, urgently.

Connor lit up and inhaled deeply from the cigarette as he stood on the sidewalk, glancing up at the church doors when they opened and Rocco walked out with Murphy's shoulders under his arm, grinning like a fucking idiot.

As soon as Rocco was near enough Connor clouted him upside his head, hard, uncaring of the passersby watching and he ignored Rocco's following complaint and grunt at the pain as Connor grabbed him by his coat lapel with his free hand and he looked him straight in the face, glaring,

"Yeh' try any schupid shit like that again and I will fuckin' shoot you, don't test me, Rocco." He said very seriously, jaw clenched.

Murphy stood by with a light frown, looking between them,

"What the fuck just happened?" He asked in a confused tone.

Rocco was nodding at Connor,

"Alright, alright man…" he conceded, hands raised and Connor shoved him back when he let go of his coat, returning to smoking his cigarette as Rocco glanced around uncomfortably and Murphy continued to look confused but suspiciously at Rocco.

After a beat of silence Connor glanced down the street to see that Smecker was out of sight,

"Where'd yeh' park the fuckin' car, Roc, let's go." he looked at the slightly taller man and when Rocco gestured up the street, the three of them started walking.

* * *

><p><em>Sore, bored, and I'm lost, cost, cold<em>  
><em> Getting older<em>  
><em> Buy the book then rip it up now, have it sold<em>

* * *

><p>They went to a breakfast restaurant down some street in Back Bay, deciding to get something to eat because while Connor said he'd wanted coffee, Murphy had said he was hungry.<p>

Presently Murphy was finishing up his plate of food, which had consisted of toast, sausage, eggs, potato wedges, bacon and beans. Connor hadn't ordered anything besides coffee for himself but he'd stolen a few morsels off Murphy's plate, receiving a look of annoyance from his hungry twin each time, to which Connor reacted by just taking another piece of food. After the third potato wedge and two bites of toast Murphy had just started ignoring him.

But it wasn't done in an upset way, in fact, Murphy seemed to be in a good mood after having been to church.

Rocco had eaten too, while he relayed to Murphy around half chewed mouthfuls of food, what had transpired inside the confessionals. Murphy hadn't been even remotely impressed with Rocco's tale of how he held up the priest, in fact, he'd gripped his fork so tightly Connor noticed it was slightly bent.

Connor was sipping on his second coffee by the time Murphy was fully informed and done eating, and he grabbed Murphy's cigarette box where it sat next to his twin's coffee cup to take one for himself. They'd smoked all of Connor's already, the three of them, since sitting down and now they were starting on Murphy's pack.

He was sitting beside Murphy on one side of the booth in the back of the restaurant, Rocco was opposite them. Connor was close enough to Murphy that if he leaned to his side a bit their shoulders would bump and their knees kept touching under the table. At first Connor had kept moving his leg away, but when he realized that Murphy barely seemed to notice, he just let it be.

It wasn't strange to sit close, in fact, before his feelings had surfaced, he and Murphy had sat closer than that for various reasons like being in tight spaces, or just for personal comforts.

Connor pulled a cigarette out of the box and Murphy gestured that he wanted it after wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, his plate empty but for scraps and crumbs of food. Connor nearly stared when Murphy licked his tongue over his bottom lip a few times, but he quickly averted his attention to passing the cigarette to Murphy instead. Murphy noticed, Connor saw how he slowly put his tongue back in his mouth and then he pursed his lips and he took the cigarette Connor held out.

Connor took another one out and placed it between his lips at the same time as Murphy did, and then he offered his hand with the lighter and when Murphy tilted his head at the right angle, Connor flicked the lighter on and he watched as Murphy's cheeks hollowed slightly when he inhaled on the cigarette until it was lit.

Their eyes met for a second before Connor brought the lighter to his own cigarette and lit it.

They both removed the cigarettes from their lips, exhaled and sat back in near perfect synchronicity, not even realizing it until Rocco pointed it out,

"You know that twin thing you do is pretty weird, man, I mean…" Rocco laughed awkwardly when the twins looked at him with questioning gazes at the same time, "…it's neat and all, but it's weird, how you just do it without even thinking." He finished.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, eyes meeting, gazes serious and they both knew what had to come next, so Connor sat forward and took another drag on his smoke before he broached the subject,

"We're going to contact Smecker." He stated, telling Rocco since he wouldn't just **know**.

Rocco frowned,

"What, why? Look I know he said he'd help us but I think we should take that as a reason to just stay away from the guy, he's still a cop, man."

Connor chewed the inside of his lip, waiting as Murphy exhaled smoke, for his twin to speak,

"We told yeh', Roc, he's a good man, if he says he'll help us, he means et'."

Connor nodded in complete agreement. It felt good to be so in sync with Murphy again after how things had been recently, they hadn't been so on par in a while. He only hoped it would last.

Rocco sighed, ran a hand through his unkempt hair and leaned forward on the table,

"Okay, so we ask this guy for help how?"

Connor frowned,

"Well, we don't really ask him fer' help, Roc…"

"…so much as we let him know our plans an' then he helps us." Murphy finished, smirk tugging at his lips and his eyebrow twitching up as he sat forward, leaning his forearms on the table before raising his smoke to his mouth.

Connor nodded again and Rocco did too after a moment,

"Oh I get it, he's gonna be like, the guy, the **guy** who covers shit up for us, that guy, right?"

"Aye, Roc, he's that guy." Connor smiled at him, amused and Murphy did too, laughing out some smoke as he ashed his cigarette.

"Nice, nice, so we'll have like…an inside man, yeah, that's what I'm fucking talking about." Rocco said enthusiastically but quietly enough that Connor didn't have to tell him to shut it.

Connor finished his coffee in another gulp before Rocco asked,

"So what's next…" he looked from Connor to Murphy, "…I mean, we got the guy on the inside now right, so we should go ahead and whack the next asshole on the list."

Connor made a face at Rocco,

"Don't say _whack_, Rocco, this is not the mafia…"

"…aye, an' we **aren't** hit men." Murphy pointed what was left of his cigarette at Rocco as he said that, serious about it.

Rocco nodded,

"Right, shepherds…" he paused and then went on when Connor and Murphy just stared at him, "…so who are we gonna _deliver_ next?"

"Much better, Roc." Murphy said with teasing approval and a smirk,

"Aye, now yeh' gettin' et'." Connor added.

"You'll be herding yer' very own sheep real soon."

"Shoveling shit with the best of them." Connor followed his twin's joking.

"Ah, fuck you guys, come on." Rocco huffed as Connor and Murphy tried not to snicker too loudly.

When they settled into silence again Murphy spoke,

"I think we should go after Yakavetta himself." He said and looked at Connor, wanting to know if they were in agreement. Connor looked at him, he got momentarily lost in the depth and clarity in those blue, blue eyes before he considered it.

It seemed like a good idea, the quickest plan of action for putting the Italian mafia out of commission for at least a little while.

Connor nodded and looked away at his nearly finished cigarette,

"Aye, he won't expect us te' come after him directly, not so soon." Connor kept nodding, staring at his cigarette as Murphy rubbed his fingers over his mouth distractedly and Rocco waited on Connor's next words, "D'ya know where he lives, Roc?" Connor asked, looking Rocco directly in the eye.

Rocco grinned,

"Hell fucking yeah, I know where that shit stain lives." He nodded, looking between the twins with enthusiasm.

"Good." Connor decided, that was what they were going to do.

"When should we hit- uh…deliver him?" Rocco corrected himself quickly.

Connor and Murphy tried to smother their amused smirks and Murphy managed first,

"I say tonight…" he had stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and he tapped his finger into the table as he said this, "…sooner we put that motherfucker in the ground, the better." He said quietly.

Rocco nodded and Connor agreed too, glancing at Murphy with a single nod of agreement and his twin nodded back.

They called for the bill and after they'd paid they walked out of the restaurant into the late morning sunlight. Connor put his sunglasses on just a second after Murphy and Rocco followed suit.

Murphy and Connor glanced both ways along the street and Connor spotted what he'd been looking for, he reached back and patted Murphy's chest with the back of his hand before gesturing across the street once he had his twin's attention.

Murphy nodded when he spotted the payphone they'd need to call Smecker from and Rocco glanced last before they all fell into step, making their way toward it,

"Listen guys, the heat's gonna be really bad after we take out Papa Joe Yakavetta…" Rocco was walking just behind the twins and somewhat between them, so he leaned in to speak quietly as they crossed the street.

Connor hadn't thought of that and once they reached the opposite curb side they stopped walking and he glanced at Murphy, his twin's subtle nod affirmed that whatever Connor decided, Murphy would support. Connor's chest warmed at the vote of confidence and the thought to kiss Murphy came to his mind, making his lips tingle so he pursed them briefly and looked at Rocco,

"We'll leave Boston right after, we can head te' New York, best city te' get lost in." he suggested, having heard that somewhere before, in a movie maybe, but he wouldn't say that.

Murphy smirked, apparently pleased by that decision,

"Plus the fuckin' crime rate is so high, we can really clean up." He pointed out.

Connor nodded and they continued to the payphone whilst Connor took his wallet out to find Paul Smecker's card.

* * *

><p>After calling Smecker's cellphone, the special agent had called back on a payphone five minutes later and the conversation had been quick and to the point. And surprisingly, for a man who'd been drunk and stumbling just three hours earlier, Smecker had sounded sober and extremely alert on the phone.<p>

Connor hadn't given Smecker any details about why he was calling and choosing to involve him, or about why they suddenly trusted him, but when he said it had _felt _like the right thing to do –and Murphy and Rocco had snickered- Smecker had sounded amazed.

Connor could only imagine that the man probably thought it was divine intervention…and who knew, maybe it was.

After that they returned to the apartment and decided they'd go to Yakavetta's at nine PM. Rocco said that Papa Joe would definitely be at home since all nighttime business meetings took place at Papa Joe's house for security reasons, so that was where Yakavetta would be, guaranteed. Rocco also said that Yakavetta had at least two 'bodyguards' with him at any given time and the twins knew that'd be easy to get by, so long as they had the element of surprise, which they did.

They'd finished Rocco's pack of cigarettes as they cleaned and loaded their guns, packed everything they'd need, preparing themselves for the job, and in the late afternoon when they were done Connor sent Rocco to get more smokes.

He hadn't realized it until after Rocco had left, that he was completely alone with Murphy in the apartment and suddenly he felt uncertain and worried. He had no idea where they stood after the night before, sure, Murphy seemed fine, but that was in public and around Rocco, so would he be different now that they were alone…would it be awkward? Would he let Connor kiss him again?

Or would he have been waiting for a moment to tell Connor it wouldn't happen again after having been to church?

_'__Whatever he wants…'_ Connor nodded to himself as he stared at the exit door through which Rocco had just left.

He estimated that since the store was a short drive away from where they currently lived, they had at least ten minutes to talk…if Murphy just wanted to talk.

Connor licked his lips, craving a cigarette since it'd been a half hour since his last, and then he turned and walked toward the kitchen where he'd left Murphy to finish up the packing of the weapons bag.

It was just after five PM, so maybe Rocco would get caught up in Boston's shitty traffic and he'd take a half an hour, Connor hoped he would.

When he entered the kitchen Murphy was putting pop tarts into the toaster and he glanced at Connor,

"Yeh' want one?" he offered as he fiddled with the box.

Connor bobbed his eyebrows and stopped to stand behind a kitchen chair, leaning on it,  
>"Which flavor is et'?"<p>

Murphy looked at the box more closely, turning it over to find the flavor,

"Chocolate fudge." He made a bit of a face at the sweet flavor, apparently he hadn't bothered to check what Rocco had previously bought from the convenience store and had just now discovered the pop tarts in the cupboard.

Connor shrugged, he hadn't been drinking so something sweet wouldn't hurt,

"Aye, I'll try one."

"Fuckin' Rocco an' his sweet tooth, did yeh' see all the chocolate bars an' candy in the cupboard…" Murphy said sounding grossed out, "…and the cereal, et's _sugar frosted_ flakes." He shook his head as he dropped the pop tart box on the counter and leaned against it.

He was behaving so normally Connor felt like maybe it was best not to bring anything up.

"Yer' fault fer' letting him buy the groceries." Connor smiled and squeezed the chair back under his hands,

"Maybe you should have gone." Murphy quipped with a sarcastic tip of his head.

"Aye, maybe I should have." He agreed, amused…and feeling slightly sad.

Murphy made a face at him, his expression said 'whatever, shut up', before he uselessly checked the empty cigarette pack on the table and then he tossed it across the kitchen at the bin, where it missed and landed on the floor.

Connor laughed quietly when he saw the crumpled pack land at the side of the bin and he only noticed when he looked back to his twin that Murphy was looking at him. Murphy was rubbing a hand over his mouth and chin as he stared at Connor and said twin couldn't figure out what Murphy was thinking, so he asked –nervously- but with faked confidence,

"What?"

Murphy sniffed as he lowered his hand and then he looked down at the table,

"Yeh' didn't pray today." He folded his arms across his chest.

Connor thought about making up an excuse, using Rocco's debacle at the church as a reason, but then he remembered that they'd made a weird, intimate breakthrough the night before and he decided not to lie,

"Aye, I didn't feel like I should…I'm not ready, Murph." He said honestly.

"Ready fer' what?" Murphy asked just when the pop tarts sprung out.

They stared at each other, neither worried about the toaster treats,

"Te' ask Him fer' forgiveness." Connor said evenly.

Murphy glanced to the side, knowing what Connor was talking about needing forgiveness for and then he sighed,

"Yeh' can still pray."

"I know." Connor said honestly, because he knew that, he could always pray.

They lapsed into silence for a moment before Connor felt a compulsion to ask,

"Yeh' alright Murph, after…" he looked at his twin and Murphy looked at him, eyebrow raising, "…after last night?"

Murphy's gaze shifted around briefly before he looked at Connor again and chewed the inside of his lip,

"Aye." He nodded.

Connor nodded as well,

"S'good. Good…I'm glad te' hear et'." He said somewhat awkwardly and then decided to drop it since Murphy was just standing there, _looking_ at him. So he nodded again and he turned around to leave for the lounge.

"Conn." Murphy's voice stopped him, quiet and curious.

Connor turned around and looked at him, raising his chin slightly in question and Murphy sighed and uncrossed his arms, raising them before dropping them again, "Don't keep et' to yerself."

Connor raised an eyebrow,

"Keep what, exactly?" he honestly wasn't sure what Murphy was referring to.

"Whatever yer' thinking…" Murphy sighed as he walked around the table so he wasn't more than a foot away, "…you look like yeh' want te' say something…" he paused, swiped his tongue along the seam of his lips absently as his eyes focused on Connor's, "…or is et' that yeh' _want_ something?" he asked quietly and with a small smile as he cocked his eyebrow.

Connor felt his ears get hot at Murphy's straightforwardness and he looked at his twin with relief and deep affection,

"Jesus Christ, Murph…" he breathed and then reached out, his hands settled on either side of Murphy's neck and he pulled his twin into a kiss.

It was rough but just lips, just for a moment, to reaffirm the incredible sensation from the night before.

And then he drew back just enough to exhale shakily and Murphy did likewise, though his breathing was softer and his eyes followed Connor's, his gaze honest and accepting, _trusting_. So Connor went ahead, because Murphy was _still _okay with it, and he closed the small gap between their lips, puckering his own and feeling Murphy do the same.

Every positive response Connor got from his twin only made the sensations and feelings more overwhelming.

It took only seconds before he found Murphy's mouth yielding, lips parting, tasting bitter from nicotine. Connor kissed him confidently, pressing against and pushing Murphy back slightly, so their chests touched, their waists, so they were just about flush and they bumped against the table making it scrape against the linoleum loudly in the silence.

Murphy was kissing back and it wasn't hesitant, but it wasn't urgent or desperate, not like Connor's mouth was over and against his. But Murphy did respond _more_ than he had the night before, tilting his head to accommodate Connor, opening his mouth that much wider when necessary…breathing slowly, steadily through his nose so they didn't need to pull apart too soon.

Connor's body was hot everywhere and his senses were on fire at the taste, smell and feel of Murphy's mouth, his skin and the firm length of his body. Connor found himself driven to touch and so his hands caressed downward from Murphy's neck to his broad shoulders as Connor broke off the kiss, with great regret but desperate curiosity, so he could begin tracing wet kisses over Murphy's jaw, to his ear and down the pale column of his neck as his hands slid lower.

He tasted traces of salt, his twin's sweat mixed with Murphy's natural skin taste and Connor was certain that's what tasted so good. And Murphy smelled so good too and his skin felt just the right amount of textured and smooth under Connor's lips.

"Dochreidte..." (Incredible) Connor breathed against the underside of Murphy's jaw before he kissed his twin's chin, feeling the roughness of the hair on his brother's skin against his lips.

Connor's hands moved down over Murphy's chest and Murphy inhaled sharply at the caress. Connor's eager hands continued, sliding over Murphy's flanks and then around to his lower back where Connor firmly pulled his twin closer against him at their hips, so their bodies and even their heights were lined up succinctly.

The pleasurable pressure against his crotch when their bodies pressed together made Connor move his hands those few inches further down onto Murphy's firm backside to squeeze and press him closer still.

But he paused, lips parted in an open mouth kiss to Murphy's neck, when he felt said twin tense and Connor heard his name mumbled uncertainly as Murphy's hands settled on his forearms to still his touches.

Connor completed the kiss and then he inhaled along Murphy's neck as he raised his head again and leveled their gazes, he felt high on the overwhelming quintessence of Murphy,

"Aye…?" Connor asked absently, licking his lips and then he remembered himself, the situation, when Murphy's uncertain expression became clear. Connor quickly eased his grip on his twin and put a few inches of space between their fronts, "…is et' too much?" he asked in a quiet rasp, his emotions –guilt, lust, insecurity- and his arousal thrumming through him, skin burning hot but sweat now cold from the shock of his possible fuck up.

Murphy swallowed visibly, licked his kiss-red lips and averted his gaze,

"Fer' right now, aye, we're in the kitchen…an' Roc could walk in, Connor." He said quietly and only then looked at Connor again, his hands releasing their grip on Connor's forearms to fall at his sides.

Connor could see and sense the tension in Murphy's body and he suspected Murphy's reason might be partly an excuse to stop, to breath. So Connor obliged, nodding as he gave his twin proper space and let him go completely, rubbing a hand over his mouth just when Murphy did the same with the back of his fingers.

Connor glanced around the kitchen, then toward the lounge while trying to get his various feelings under control and honestly, ignoring that he was hard was near impossible, so Connor needed to distract himself from it. He figured it would be best to move away from the source of his desire so he turned to walk away but again was stopped by Murphy's quiet statement of his name, and Murphy looked guilty and…_shy_, when Connor looked at him again.

It was the strangest thing, Connor had never seen Murphy's ears so red.

"Murph, what is et'?" he frowned.

His twin's eyes wandered the kitchen aimlessly for a few seconds before he spoke very quietly,

"I didn't say te' stop, just don't get carried away…"

Connor was **stunned**.

Instantly his stomach did a lightweight flip and his heart rate sped right back up before he smiled and huffed in disbelief and Murphy smiled back at him in a way that was just gorgeous, sweet and _knowing._

So Murphy wasn't making an excuse, or if it was, it was only a small one not to go too far.

Connor searched Murphy's face for a moment to look for discomfort, to see if he was forcing himself to go on in order to please Connor. But there was none and Connor didn't feel any weird vibes coming off his twin, so he took that one step closer again and he pressed his smiling lips to Murphy's.

When they kissed that time it was slow and almost experimental.

Connor didn't move his mouth with desperation, he took it slow, all nervousness and uncertainty gone and the lack of hurry seemed to give Murphy room to do more, to test and taste and kiss in ways that Connor felt in _every_ fucking nerve, in every good way there possibly was under heaven.

He couldn't even think straight as Murphy _kissed him._

A minute of uninterrupted kissing, just their mouths and breaths, established a rhythm.

Connor tended to kiss with more movement, his head, his hands, his mouth…tilting, caressing and nibbling. Whereas Murphy focused on using his mouth, on working their mouths together thoroughly and so they fell into an ebb and flow, as with everything between them, they balanced each other.

For every shift of their heads and deep kiss on Connor's part, Murphy obliged before he steadied the kiss with his hands at the sides of Connor's face and his mouth slowly driving Connor crazy with sexily applied firmness and with unexpected deftness.

How in the fuck Murphy was such a good kisser Connor had no idea. Then again, maybe something could be said for learning how to kiss one person properly as opposed to just kissing many people as Connor had once done.

Whatever it was, Connor was having trouble swallowing his moans of appreciation for it.

Murphy kissed a little rougher at some points and eased back at others but it was consistently slow, personal and intimate as his thumbs moved in steady caresses along Connor's jaw. And hearing the soft smacking sounds between their mouths, feeling the light brushing of their fronts in the so small space between them, getting lost in the taste and texture of Murphy's mouth and his softly hitching breaths merging with Connor's quiet moans…

…it left Connor in a mess of incredible feelings, all manifesting physically and making him ache with need.

Never once in recent weeks…never in his life, had Connor ever thought he would get to kiss Murphy that way…yet…

He frowned as the question of what Murphy might **really** be feeling occurred to him, interrupting his elation and he _forced_ himself to stop kissing those deceptively skilled and soft, wet lips. Because how Murphy felt about all of this was important and Connor needed to know.

His hands had been moving between Murphy's neck and shoulders and Connor shifted them up to hold his twin's face as he drew back from the kiss with a soft smack and after licking his lips Connor asked,

"D'ya feel anythin', Murph?" he asked quietly.

Murphy had opened his eyes just after Connor did and they stared at each other for a few seconds before Murphy nodded once, his hands settling on Connor's forearms and squeezing lightly.

"What Murph, what do yeh' feel, is et' good or bad?" Connor asked as calmly, as evenly as possible.

Murphy inhaled slowly, licked his bottom lip a few times over –his lips red and swollen from kissing- and then he swallowed and clenched his jaw lightly,

"I feel…like I can't breathe…" Connor's stomach felt cold instantly but he forced a smile, forced a light tone of voice,

"Would that be the _suffocating_, yeh' can't breathe, or the good sort of _breathless_, yeh' can't breathe?" he slid his hands up into Murphy's hair and pressed his fingers into his twin's scalp in a firm caress.

Murphy's eyes closed briefly at the sensation before he gave Connor one of his intense looks and cocked his eyebrow, about to answer when they heard the rattle of the door handle from the hall and then the sound of it opening.

Connor stepped back quickly but with relative calm, removing all contact from Murphy and then he quickly pulled a chair out at the table and sat down, knowing that'd be a good enough way to hide his painful hard on from Rocco.

Murphy didn't panic either and Connor noticed –with hurt disappointment- that Murphy made no move to hide himself since there was no visible reason that Connor could see for him to do so. What he did do was wipe his hand across his reddened mouth a few times more than usual, run a hand through his hair to flatten it and he sniffed somewhat loudly just when Rocco walked into the kitchen complaining about assholes who can't drive.

Murphy immediately gestured to him for the cigarettes and Connor sat staring at the table top with a pain in his chest.

Until Murphy told him, Connor would continue to wonder exactly what Murphy felt when they kissed.

Even if it wasn't arousal enough to get him hard, Connor hoped it was something more than just breathlessness due to the overwhelming significance of their closeness, if that was even the reason. He only assumed that because it was how he described his own emotional overwhelm…since being that close to Murphy was the most intense and amazing feeling he'd ever experienced, the sexual desire aside.

It was obvious that Murphy wasn't sexually affected by it like Connor was, not in a physically visible way at least.

Connor stifled a sigh and he looked up as Rocco tossed a pack of smokes to Murphy and then he just managed to catch the one tossed to him. After that Rocco went on to bitch and moan about his outing to the store and Connor smoked silently while Murphy fell back into normalcy like it was effortless for him, laughing and joking with Rocco minutes later and eating the cold pop tarts.

And so the evening drew on, as though nothing had happened between him and Murphy, until it finally got late enough to go after Yakavetta, and after suiting up, they left the apartment.

* * *

><p><em>My will, my mind, my lips, my lines<em>  
><em> I've got them all over you<em>  
><em> Your taste combined with all the years of wasting time<em>  
><em> I gotta hold onto something new<em>

_But I don't wanna pray for what is not right_  
><em> And I don't wanna beg for what is not mine<em>  
><em> I don't wanna run the road between dreams and worthy things<em>


	10. Chapter 9

**NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly. **

**Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale**

**Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Conner and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.**

**Sub note – David Della Rocco's full real name was used for the character of Rocco, as shown on the screen in the beginning of the first bar scene.**

**-This chapter has been censored to exclude explicit content.**

**-The AO3 upload is uncensored and has additional images.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

* * *

><p><em>It takes a lot to know a man<em>  
><em> It takes a lot to understand<em>  
><em> The warrior, the sage<em>  
><em> The little boy enraged...<em>

* * *

><p>Rocco was dead.<p>

* * *

><p>They'd been strategic, they'd overestimated, planned for three unsuspecting henchman, four people total including Yakavetta himself. But they'd been wrong, there'd been two men outside when they got to the house and once they'd executed them –by Rocco's word that they were evil men-, the trio hadn't expected to be confronted with four more –waiting and armed- men inside at the basement stairs where they'd tried to enter the house from.<p>

From there it'd all been downhill.

They'd been cuffed to chairs in the basement, the three of them in a row and then they'd been beaten, punches to the torso and to the face. Rocco got it the worst, from the second they'd been caught, the four henchman had focused on Rocco more than either Connor or Murphy.

Rocco and Murphy struggled against their captors, well, Murphy did more fighting than struggling and Connor hated hearing him shouting and screaming and grunting as he kicked with strong legs and wrenched his chair around. But his twin was strong and he gave the bastards hell, whereas Connor remained composed, he had to stay composed, he always had to be the level headed one.

Even when they hit him, or choked him. He endured. Head clear despite the pain from being beaten. Because Murphy and Rocco were in trouble and he needed a plan…some kind of _plan_.

Then Yakavetta walked in and again all the attention had been on Rocco and Rocco had a mouth that said the wrong things at the wrong times.

When Papa Joe shot Rocco's finger off and the blood splattered across Connor's forehead, his only thought was to **kill** Yakavetta.

And while Rocco screamed in pain and anger and shock, nearer to Connor than they'd put Murphy, Connor heard Murphy's screams louder, clearer, resounding in his head, reverberating inside his skull and his own throat felt raw from it.

Murphy hated to see people he cared about hurt, he'd always been that way, loyal and caring but dangerous and violent behind a smile and sweet face. God, Connor **loved** him.

And knowing how deeply Murphy was able to hurt…when Yakavetta put a fatal bullet through Rocco minutes later, Connor screamed before it even happened, looking past Rocco at his twin, because Murphy had known it was about to happen too and his eyes had been so wide in horror. Connor had been able to feel the painful pounding of Murphy's heart even as his own raced fast enough for them both.

Murphy lost it when Rocco hit the ground with a gaping hole in his chest.

Connor screamed Rocco's name as the deep ache of losing a friend entered his chest, whilst Murphy had tossed himself so harshly at Yakavetta's retreating form he'd nearly kicked him.

And then they'd been left alone and Murphy had thrown himself to the ground with the chair, all limbs and blood and screams as he pulled himself up alongside a dying Rocco.

Rocco said something as he lay dying, whatever it was made Murphy go still for a few seconds but the words were lost to Connor, since he'd started to lose it himself. Because Rocco was _dying_ and he was about to take his last breath and Murphy was right there, right next to him…to watch it up close.

Twice…three times the pain, Rocco dying, Murphy's grief…and his own.

And when Rocco was finally gone they'd both screamed, it had been chaos, their shared pain was worse because they felt it themselves and for one another _physically_…and then Connor had to steel himself for the rarely seen hard edge of his twin.

Murphy went cold, his tears dried up quickly and not two minutes later he was waiting for Connor to break his hand to free him from the cuffs.

Murphy had to shout, insisting, at Connor twice before he actually forced himself and raised his boot to stomp Murphy's hand against the back of the steel chair.

* * *

><p>Jesus Christ, he could still hear the subtle crack of bone…<p>

* * *

><p>And because he didn't want to have to do it too many times, Connor had tried to put a bit more force behind the second stomp…but a third was what did it. Murphy barely shouted or screamed, so how much pain he'd felt was only measured by the ache at the base of Connor's skull. And once Murphy was able to get his hand out of the cuff and separate himself from the chair so he was on his feet, he grabbed his Rambo knife from where their guns and coats had been tossed in the corner of the basement room and with a lethal look on his face, Murphy waited for any one or <strong>all<strong> of the thugs to enter the basement again.

Connor continued to keep his calm on the outside while his mind raged and raced and the smell of Rocco's blood coated his nose and throat so that he could practically taste it. Then again it might have been his own blood from being punched in the face…he didn't know and it didn't matter.

He didn't really give much clear thought to anything until Murphy had killed the henchman who came back to the basement to finish them off. He had keys on him and those were the first things Murphy searched for and then with adrenalin shaken hands, Murphy unlocked Connor's cuffs before doing his own.

Thereafter everything else fell away and they lifted Rocco's body and the chair back up to a sitting position with careful hands and emotional pain. They found their pennies with their belongings and weapons and with their breathing in sync they knelt down before their dead friend and bowed their heads after placing pennies over Rocco's eyes.

But they weren't able to pray for Rocco to completion because they were interrupted…

And Connor couldn't accurately describe the feeling he had when their attempted murderer turned out to be their father…when the man who'd nearly put bullets in both himself and Murphy and had taken Rocco's finger with another one, interrupted their deliverance.

He interrupted their deliverance… and then he'd completed their prayer himself, their family prayer…but he was family, so…

* * *

><p><em>It takes a lot to know a man<em>  
><em> A lot to know, to understand<em>  
><em> The father and the son<em>  
><em> The hunter and the gun...<em>

* * *

><p>Connor thought now, presently, as he smoked slowly on his eighteenth cigarette in the last two hours, that he remembered feeling sick to his stomach somewhere in all of his raging emotions, but there'd been some strange sense of relief too. However, he hadn't felt any kind of relief or happiness from Murphy, in fact he'd gotten a very dark vibe from Murphy in that moment, especially when their <em>father<em>, Il Duce, had touched their bloody faces, Murphy's dark feelings had flooded Connor's senses.

Connor had lowered and de-cocked his gun first, but he hadn't failed to notice that Murphy took a moment longer to lower and disarm his weapon. As if he'd only lowered his gun because Connor had, not because he hadn't wanted to shoot their own Da.

The feelings from his twin had been so ominous…and even right then they were still present, crawling under Connor's skin from where they lurked in Murphy's heart and mind. Crawling everywhere except where his bare forearm skin touched Murphy's as they sat closely side by side at their kitchen table, Paul Smecker and Il Duce sitting opposite them…in the aftermath of their failed execution.

In the aftermath of Rocco's death.

Murphy's arm, his skin against Connor's own was his only comfort right then, and not because of his perverse feelings for his twin, but just because it was warm and alive and _real_.

After Il Duce had found them in the basement, he'd simply said that they needed to leave.

Connor had agreed and again, Murphy had probably only acquiesced because of Connor's surety, because Murphy hadn't seemed impressed with their long last Da showing up. So after using ammonia to destroy the DNA in any blood they came across that could be related to them, they'd left Rocco's body there, where the police would find it and they'd contact Rocco's family.

And the twins would have missed Paul Smecker's unconscious form on the way out if Connor hadn't bothered to glance down as he'd stepped over the figure clad in women's clothing.

But luckily they hadn't missed him lying there and despite their Da saying to leave him, cop or no cop, Murphy had ignored the older man and he'd knelt down to wake Paul up and with success after a few slaps to the special agent's face, Paul had come around and they'd left with him.

In the past few hours that they'd been sitting and talking, Smecker had thanked them more than once since they'd saved his career by taking him out of there. If the police had found him with the unmarked gun he'd shot two men with while illegally infiltrating the home of a man who had yet to be charged with any crimes, he'd have been done for. Il Duce seemed unmoved by Paul's gratitude but he remained civil the entire time and Murphy hadn't said even two words, he just sat beside Connor, smoked cigarette after cigarette and stared at the floor or the far wall.

Especially when their Da explained that Yakavetta had agreed to get him released from prison so long as he did a single job for him. Murphy had chewed the inside of his lip, scrunching his mouth up, jaw clenched, eyes narrowing at the far wall and anger had radiated off him in waves that Connor doubted he'd been the only who felt.

Murphy was _pissed off_ but he was biting his tongue.

That had been about twenty minutes ago, now they were all sitting in silence and Connor felt so tightly wound yet so exhausted. He scratched at the cut and bump on his forehead with his available fingers since he had his cigarette in that hand, his other one hadn't moved from the table beside Murphy's injured hand.

Smecker sighed then, breaking the silence.

His makeup was smeared in certain places, his wig abandoned and his clothes were untidy, under any other circumstances Connor would have laughed, but not in that moment,

"I'm gonna go home, get my shit together and tomorrow I'll find out what's happening with Yakavetta…" he stood up, still in his heels and looking oddly comfortable, Paul looked at Connor as he stuck his gun into his hand bag, "…call me at around noon, I should have news for you by then." He said evenly.

Connor just nodded and Murphy didn't even look at Paul.

After a glance at a stoic Il Duce, Smecker walked as far as the door to the kitchen and then he turned around,

"Are you still leaving town?"

Connor looked at him and he felt a pique in Murphy's emotions, he didn't need to look at his silent twin to know the answer,

"No, we're not leaving until Yakavetta is done with." He said firmly and felt some ease enter his connection with Murphy as he continued to smoke his cigarette.

Smecker nodded and then left.

For ten minutes of further silence their Da did nothing but sit and _watch_ them and Connor wondered what he was thinking about, was he thinking about having missed them? Was he proud of the way they'd turned out? Was he disappointed? Did he see beyond Connor's calm exterior right into the heart of his twisted feelings for Murphy?

Connor and Murphy both reached for their cigarette packs at the same time, tapped one out, lit it up and inhaled. Connor scratched his neck as he exhaled through his nose and Murphy rubbed his fingers over his chin as he exhaled likewise…and Il Duce didn't blink.

_'__So that's it…'_ Connor realized, the man was fascinated by their brotherhood, their twin-ness, their connection, whatever he might like to call it. He'd never seen them together, not even as children, having left when they had been infants, so he was witnessing it for the first time.

Connor considered asking the man if he'd be staying the night as the silence dragged on but he didn't think Murphy would appreciate him making such an offer. Il Duce saved him the trouble of figuring a way out of the silence when he got to his feet, his chair scraping back loudly.

Connor looked up at him whereas Murphy spared a glance in the general direction of the chair,

"Yer' leavin?" he tried to sound casual about it, and not hopeful, but as much as he was vaguely relieved to have found their father, Connor wanted to be alone with Murphy.

Rocco was dead, they needed to be alone.

"Aye, boys, I'll be leavin' yeh' fer' tonight, I have some tings' I need te' tie up." At his words Murphy tensed, jaw clenched and Connor looked from him to their Da, who was pulling his coat on from where he'd laid it on the ironing board, "I'll be back tomorrow te' hear what that special agent has te' say and from there, we'll deal with Yakavetta." He walked back over to them, closer, apparently completely clueless to how uncomfortable he was making Murphy.

Or maybe he just didn't care.

He raised his gloved hands and touched their heads and their cheeks lightly, Murphy stayed completely still and Connor just endured the few second touch that was probably some expression of affection, and when it was over, Il Duce left.

The kitchen door swung, his boots sounded down the hall and then the exit door opened and shut and he was **gone**. Finally, they were alone. Completely alone…without Rocco even.

Connor allowed some silence between them, a few minutes before he took in a steady breath and looked at Murphy's unchanged side profile,

"How're yeh' doin', Murph?" he asked quietly.

Murphy frowned, chewed his lip, sniffed and exhaled the smoke he'd been holding in before he shook his head,

"He shouldnt've gone that way, Connor." He said quietly.

Connor nodded, staring at Murphy with sadness and ever present love, adoration for his sibling, his everything, still alive and breathing,

"I know, Murph but we had no way of stopping Yakavetta." he tried to comfort Murphy with words.

But Murphy surprised him by sobbing once, eyes squeezing shut. He'd been so shut down all night that Connor was unsure of what to say at first as Murphy leaned his forehead in his cigarette hand, rested against the heel of his palm as he sobbed again, slowly…but surely, he was breaking now that they were alone.

Connor swallowed tensely, feeling the pressure of Murphy's emotions in his chest. He placed his own cigarette in the ashtray and turned his full attention to his twin, resting a warm, rough hand on the back of Murphy's neck, warm skin to warm skin, because they were alive and it was important to remember that,

"Okay there, Murph…" he said gently, leaning close, his chest to Murphy's shoulder, "…Rocco was a decent man in the end, he'll be in good hands, brother." He rubbed his fingers into Murphy's tense neck, massaging lightly.

Murphy's cigarette continued to burn, smoke swirling into the muggy, smog filled kitchen and he continued to sob quietly, a few small tears made it out of his eyes, landing on the cheap table top,

"It-….ts' my fault, Con-nor…" he managed out from behind clenched teeth.

Connor frowned at that and he held Murphy's neck firmly as he grabbed his twin's face with his other hand, turning his head so he could look him in his watery blue eyes.

"What're yeh' talking about, Murph? How's et' yer' fault, that's crazy tal-…"

"_No_ Connor…" Murphy said with his watery eyes narrowing, filled with guilt as he sniffed, "…et' was because of me, I wanted te' bring him in, et' was my idea te' go after Yakavetta…" he sobbed again and his voice was tight with guilt, "…et' was **me**, Connor, I **told** him te' take the credit fer' killin' those mafia men at Copley Plaza…_me_, Connor, Rocco is dead because I put the target on his back, I-…"

Connor patted his cheek somewhat hard, a light slap,

"Shut et', Murph, I won't let yeh' convince yerself' of that bullshit…" he said firmly and for a few seconds Murphy looked so incredibly young, Connor felt like they were 14 years old again and their family pet from their mother's generation had just died of old age.

The look on Murphy's face made his chest ache and he felt his eyes burn as well.

"Rocco wanted in, Murph, he was sick of the mafia, he wanted te' _kill them all_, remember." He quoted the words Rocco had spoken and then he absently stroked his fingers over Murphy's ear, "He wouldn't blame yeh', Murph, he died fer' a cause, fer' a good cause…"  
>"He died because of us, Connor." Murphy rasped out, expression pained and Connor moved his hand to the back of Murphy's head, into his hair so he could press their foreheads together,<p>

"He died fighting alongside us, for us, Murphy…" he said firmly and Murphy sobbed very quietly, eyes closing as a few more tears left his eyes, tears that Connor wiped at lightly with his other hand, his fingers and his thumb, gentle touches, "…and we'll avenge him, Murph, we'll do right by him, I swear et' te' yeh'. God as my witness…" he said the last part breathily, lowering his eyelids to half-mast and pressing a kiss to Murphy's cheek bone, feeling dampness from tears against his lips.

Murphy sniffed, sobbed again, pressed his forehead against Connor's cheek and clenched his teeth,

"Beidh muid a mharú dó." (We'll kill him.) Murphy breathed out angrily and his hand still holding what was left of the cigarette reached up to grip Connor's shoulder, a handful of his shirt.

"Aye…we will." Connor pressed another kiss to Murphy's damp closed left eye, just next to some mild swelling from where he'd been hit in the face.

Then he kissed Murphy's temple, then his forehead, the bridge of his nose, slowly he brushed his lips along Murphy's clammy, warm skin to kiss his other eye, his other cheek bone, all the while his fingers caressed lightly over the side of Murphy's neck, over his ear and Connor listened to his twin's breathing slowly calm down and even out, his sniffles were quieter and his sobs had stopped.

Connor repeated the slow kisses again and when he reached Murphy's forehead a second time his twin asked,

"What the fuck are yeh' doin'?" his tone was light, his voice muffled from congestion but there was no rebuke in his tone.

Connor laughed quietly against Murphy's skin and then he said what he honestly had felt he was doing,

"Tryin' te' comfort yeh'…" he sniffed as well, "…is et' workin'?"

Murphy opened his eyes and he drew back so they could look at one another, he was frowning with an odd twitch happening to his features,

"I think et' is…" he sounded disbelieving, even as he smiled and Connor did too.

"Would yeh' look at that, me kissin' Macho Murphy's boo-boo better." He teased with a small grin. Murphy knocked his forehead into Connor's with a small bit of force,

"Fuck you." Connor snickered softly and pressed their foreheads together again as they both sniffed, the tension had eased from Murphy's body somewhat, Connor could feel it in their connection and he heard it in the soft exhale Murphy made.

They were quiet for a minute and in that time Connor had been staring at Murphy's injured hand, it was wrapped in a bandage and it was swollen.

"I tried te' dislocate et'…I didn't want te' break yer' hand." He said by way of an explanation.

"I don't think et's broken too badly, Paul felt around before he bandaged et'…he said if I get et' set and cast soons' possible et'll heal fine, so yeh' did right, Conn." Murphy leaned back so he could shift in his seat and lean forward on the table, dropping his burned out filter in the ashtray.

Murphy put a new cigarette in his mouth, held it between his lips and then picked the lighter up and lit it, his eyes were slightly puffy and he looked tired and scratched up but still gorgeous. Connor leaned back in his chair and rubbed his fingers into his eyes and his hand over his face, trying not to let his mind wander to inappropriately timed thoughts.

"So, Smecker will let us know tomorrow what's going te' happen when the police start investigating Yakavetta an' then we'll all start planning."

"All?" Murphy asked tensely, looking back at Connor over his shoulder, gaze serious.

Connor nodded,

"Us two, Smecker and…Noah." He couldn't bring himself to call the man Da, he wasn't sure he would ever be able to.

Murphy got up then, rubbing the heel of his good hand into his eye as he did a quick pace and Connor figured he knew the answer before he asked the question,

"What's wrong, Murph?"

His twin didn't hesitate,

"He's not a good man, Connor."

Connor raised an eyebrow and sighed as he reached for his nearly empty cigarette pack, waiting for Murphy to go on since he could sense there was more to come.

Two drags on his cigarette later, Murphy spoke up,

"He's a **hit man, **Connor." He said with ample disgust, "He traded a favor with the fuckin' mafia, if he hadn'ta been in jail he'd have taken money fer' a job, money fer' his 'services'." Murphy made inverted commas with his fingers, face expressing his distaste and anger.

Connor listened. Agreed with his twin's opinion. Understood where he was coming from.

"He's not like us…" Murphy's nostrils flared when he exhaled loudly and harshly, "…he tried te' kill us and he nearly **did, **he's a bad man, Connor. Evil man…" Murphy cocked his eyebrow but didn't finish his sentence, still the weight of his words hung in the air.

Connor smoked and exhaled and cuffed a hand through his hair before he decided to answer his twin's expectant look,

"Murphy, we can't kill our own father." He said plainly, pulling his face.

Murphy glanced around and nodded,

"I know, but we can't work with him either."

Connor sighed,

"We should give him a chance-…"

"Fer' what reason, have yeh' lost yer' fuckin' mind? Did they hit yeh' too hard in yer' head?"

Connor hated that this could turn into an argument, he was too tired and he didn't want to fight with Murphy, he wanted the opposite of anything to do with fighting with his twin.

"Murph, he was on a different path-…"

"Aye, the same one that landed him in jail probably." Murphy said surely but Connor didn't back down, sometimes making Murphy see reason took a little work, and a few hard truths,

"The same path Rocco was on…" Murphy stilled, chest rising and falling as he stood, "…an' if yeh' hadn't given him a chance te' join us, he'd have ended up killed by the mafia or in jail himself." Connor said calmly, watching Murphy absorb his words and weigh them, eyes trailing over the floor.

When nothing was forthcoming from Murphy, Connor stood up and walked over to Murphy a few feet away,

"I'm not sayin' we just blindly accept him, but we owe him a chance, about as much as he owes us his guns an' Yakavetta's life for Rocco's."

Their eyes met and Connor watched as Murphy thought it through and then he nodded slowly,

"We'll give him a chance, one chance, te' change his path…"

Connor nodded,

"…an' if he doesn't we'll leave him be, leave him te' his fate." He answered the unasked question.

Murphy nodded again and finished his cigarette in two long drags before stifling a yawn,

"Christ, I'm fuckin' tired." He sighed.

"Me'self as well." Connor agreed.

"I'm goin' te' take a shower…" Murphy sniffed as he pulled at his dark, stained, turtleneck, "…I've still got Roc's…blood on me…" his voice hitched lightly.

Connor slapped Murphy's shoulder lightly,

"Go clean up." He encouraged and after a short nod from Murphy, his twin dropped his filter in the ashtray and then went out into the hall to do just that.

Connor locked up the apartment, then to pass time he took all of Rocco's clothes and his few possessions lying around and shoved them into black plastic bags with a lump in his throat. He threw out any beer cans and bottles lying around, emptied out the ashtrays, threw away the takeout that was old, empty or wasn't going to be eaten and finally he washed the few dishes.

Much like other nights, Connor made his way straight into the bathroom once Murphy was done and he cleaned up, showered the blood and sweat and grime from his skin and hair, then he soaked his sore muscles for a few minutes longer and finally he brushed the stale nicotine taste from his mouth.

When he walked into the bedroom it wasn't in darkness, Murphy was sitting on his bed, a cigarette suspended from his lips and eyes squinted against the smoke as he slowly worked on bandaging his broken hand in a fresh wrap. Connor rolled his eyes as he walked over,

"Didn't want te' ask me fer' help?" he sat down on the bed, the same side as Murphy and gently reached out and took over the bandaging.

Murphy sighed as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray between their beds after finishing it,

"Just tired of actin' like a pussy, cryin', needin' help with stupid shit."

Connor considered and reconsidered not teasing him but ultimately gave in,

"Don't worry, Murph, et's okay te' cry, yer' crying was very manly…" he said with a snicker.

Murphy narrowed his eyes at Connor,

"Connor…don't even start…I'm warnin' yeh'…"

"I'd suggest tryin' te' deepen et' up in future though…"

"…I'm fuckin' warnin' yeh'…"

"…cause' et' got a bit girlish at the end there, just a wee' bit…"

"…fuck you!"

There was no third 'warning', Murphy _always_ stopped after two and Connor expected it when Murphy tackled him and it was refreshing to play around, especially after the day they'd had and even with his injured hand, Murphy was putting some proper fight into it. Connor did too, while holding onto his towel and after a few tackles Connor had to flee, laughing as he retreated across the room,

"Now gimme' a minute here, Murph, I'm in need of some boxers before I can win this little bout an' teach yeh' a proper lesson." He said as he yanked the drawers open.

Murphy laughed too as he flopped onto his bed, face first into the pillow before he rolled onto his back.

Connor glanced over at his twin as he pulled on boxers under his towel, Murphy was watching him,

"27 years, Connor…" Murphy said audibly, "…27 years of our lives an' that's the first time I've seen yeh' hide yerself when dressin'." He pointed out as if it wasn't an awkward topic as he lay comfortably in just his boxers.

Connor hung his towel over the door, too lazy to go back to the bathroom and he walked over to his bed as he addressed Murphy's comment,

"Well, things are a little different now, Murph."

"Et's not…" Murphy sat up, leaning on his elbows, "…I told yeh' I'm fine with what yeh' want."

Connor raised an eyebrow as he sat on his bed, back against the wall and his pillow,

"What's that even s'pose te' mean? It doesn't address the issue…" he looked at Murphy as his twin stared back at him, "…yeh' know, the physical implications an' shit."

Murphy snorted and sat up properly, swinging his legs off the bed and he sat facing Connor's bed,

"The physical implications…? Oh, fer' fucks sake, Connor, we're grown men, if yer' referring te' getting hard, then just say so."

"Christ, Murphy…" Connor slid down on his bed and shook his head, ears getting hot.

"Et's not as if I didn't notice et'." Murphy added, looking amused.

"Alright, _fine_…" Connor said irritably and glanced at Murphy, "…so I got hard, doesn't mean I need te' advertise et' to yeh'."

Murphy made a laughing sound, it was almost smug,

"Well et's fer' **me**, idnit?"

"Murphy, Jesus, would yeh' shut the fuck up about et'." Connor sat up too, pulling himself to sit upright against his pillow and the wall again.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Connor, I thought et' was what yeh' wanted?" he sounded accusing now.

Connor sighed and looked at him,

"Aye, et' is, but what I want…" what he felt he wanted deep in his bones, "…et's too much fer' yeh' Murph, I can't ask et' of yeh', I won't." he shook his head lightly.

Murphy got up and went over to sit on Connor's bed, shifting so he was sitting beside his twin, both of their backs to the wall,

"…not right now, no… but s'not te' say I never will." He said quietly, leaning the side of his head against the wall and looking at Connor, nothing but honesty and love in his gaze.

"Even if yeh' never can, as long as yer' with me, Murph…" Connor mumbled, looking straight into Murphy's eyes.

"And I will be…forever, brother."

Connor smiled lazily,

"Yeh'd better, Murph."

Murphy smirked, eyebrow cocking,

"Cause' yeh' need me, admit et', yeh' do." He was teasing but Connor was serious,

"Aye, I do. I need yeh'." He gladly admitted, head leaned back as well.

Murphy just snorted softly, smiling as they stared at each other.

Then the words left Connor's mouth before he could stop them and he asked quietly,

"Can I kiss you, Murph?" he felt he had to ask, after their loss that day, he didn't want to just take anything from his twin. Murphy bobbed his eyebrow slightly upward,

"Aye, yeh' can…"

Connor leaned in and kissed him, mouths open, deep and slow and wet and all the best kinds of sinful and after a minute he drew back because a question that burned in his mind was making its way up his throat. Connor let his lips linger near Murphy's as he spoke,

"Did yeh' ask God te' forgive yeh' when we went te' church, were yeh' sorry for this, Murphy?" he asked quietly, intimately, his _Veritas _tattooed hand moving gently along Murphy's collar bone.

Murphy licked his lips, swallowed slowly and with an honest gaze he frowned slightly,

"No…I didn't…I chose te' give this te' yeh', Conn," he said just as quietly, "I'm not sorry fer' et'."

Connor smiled and his chest and throat felt tight with emotion as he kissed Murphy again…and for a long while.

* * *

><p>Later, when they'd become too tired, their lips were red and swollen and their jaws were a bit sore, for the first time in years, they chose to sleep in the same bed. As close as they needed, as they both wanted, and Connor doubted there'd ever be anything as perfect as falling asleep with the scent of Murphy's skin and hair dominating his senses and his body that close.<p>

Whatever the following day held…Il Duce, Smecker…Yakavetta, they would face it together.

* * *

><p><em>What are you so afraid to lose?<em>  
><em> What is it you're thinking that will happen if you do?<em>

* * *

><p><strong>1 Month, 14 Days Later<strong>

The police had launched a new investigation into Yakavetta after finding the many dead bodies, including David Della Rocco's, in Papa Joe's Boston home just a few hours after the incident, due to an 'anonymous tip'.

Rocco's family had long since held an open funeral for him and Connor and Murphy had attended, but they'd kept their distance because Smecker had warned that the mob would be keeping an eye on all things 'Rocco'. They'd be looking for accomplices, since Rocco was the only one they knew for _sure_ had been involved in the vigilante murders, aside from Yakavetta himself, who had seen the twins but had no idea who Connor and Murphy were.

Smecker's latest update was that the police knew that the 'mafia killing vigilantes' had been at the crime scene. So predictably, all of the mafia murders were credited to the 'vigilantes'. But even with that, there were plenty of discrepancies and holes in the case keeping police busy, such as the fact that Rocco's body had been beaten and cuffed to a chair and he was the only person in the house of dead bodies who'd had pennies in his eyes. Also that none but two of the men killed by gun shot, including Rocco, were shot with the weapons that the 'vigilantes' used.

Smecker had told them this information when he'd come to see them –which he did only when he could manage it between work- two days earlier at their **new** apartment. Another new place, the one they presently shared with their Da since he'd walked back into their lives weeks ago.

Paul had gone on to tell them that the investigation could get complicated because of extenuating circumstances and inconsistencies, and complicated was bad because it left room for error and created loop holes for Yakavetta. He explained that the state was aiming to dredge up any charges formerly laid against Don Papa Joe in the past few years in hopes of nailing the bastard, but Smecker didn't look like he thought anything was going to stick.

Yakavetta had been acquitted twice before and he had a way of keeping his nose clean.

The idea of Yakavetta getting off scot-free had instantly put Murphy in a bad mood, or a worse mood rather, since he'd been on and off mood wise since they'd decided to give Il Duce a chance to be a part of their lives and their duties to God. So finding out that they weren't getting anywhere with Yakavetta, because the state wasn't looking so good on landing a conviction, coupled with the fact that Papa Joe was so highly guarded at all times, which made it impossible for the twins to get to him, made Murphy _really_ angry.

And Connor understood and he empathized with his brother, because Yakavetta had a debt that needed to be paid. Rocco's death was a weight that was heavy in Murphy and Connor's minds and hearts, more so in Murphy since he felt guilty and directly responsible.

For that reason, Connor decided he'd think on it and come up with a plan that wouldn't involve _legal_ red tape.

* * *

><p><strong>19 Days Later<strong>

Connor was watching the news when Yakavetta's court date was publically announced and the idea hit him just seconds into the broadcast, and it was pure _gold_.

He quickly got up from the couch in the small lounge of the two bedroom apartment they'd recently rented and walked into the kitchen, to the window which opened onto the fire escape, where Connor knew Murphy was sitting and smoking…away from Il Duce.

Murphy had yet to warm up to their Da, despite the fact that their father had been in their company or general vicinity every single day. It was hard for Connor for personal reasons when it came to wanting to be alone with Murphy, but the man had told them he was dedicated to their holy cause and he hadn't yet faltered.

But Noah, for all of his dedication, didn't seem as interested in the personal acts of religion as they were, his confidence in God seemed to come from somewhere different. He spoke confidently and powerfully of his belief in God without ever practicing outwardly…but to Connor, and Murphy more so, something about it felt _empty_.

After all, their Da had been a hit man, a contract killer…and yet in all the time they'd been with him he'd never seemed remorseful for it and his dedication to God seemed almost superficial, selective.

Connor tried to keep an open mind though, especially since they didn't know the circumstances of how he'd ended up doing that for a living, but Murphy was less forgiving. Most of the time he just seemed to take a cue from Connor on how best to react when Il Duce asked a personal question about their childhoods and adult lives and Connor had seen his twin sometimes just leave a room when their father walked in.

He assumed that the root of Murphy's resentment lied in the fact that Il Duce had agreed to do a 'hit' for the man who killed Rocco, and for the fact that as a contract killer, he would have killed Connor and Murphy too had they been less capable of taking care of themselves.

Connor didn't know if his twin would ever forget, even if he somehow forgave.

"Murph…" Connor leaned out of the window to check if Murphy was still there and sure enough he was sat two steps up, wearing faded blue jeans with a faded black T shirt. He was leaning back, his elbows rested one stair up either side behind him and a cigarette was suspended between his lips, with wisps of smoke floating into the air from his mouth and nose.

With the late afternoon sunlight set against Murphy's face, turning his blue eyes a translucent color, Connor had to force himself not to stare and grin like a love struck idiot.

Murphy cocked his eyebrow in question as Connor stepped out onto the fire escape, and Connor glanced back inside just to make sure he hadn't missed Il Duce lurking around, because he practically never had any time alone with Murphy these days.

Once he was sure, he sat down beside his twin,

"I do believe…" he paused to smile smugly, "…that I just thought of a solution te' our Yakavetta problem, dear brother."

Murphy removed his cigarette from his lips as he watched Connor,

"Is that right?" he smirked, "Before yeh' tell me, is yer' idea from another movie, dear brother?" he asked in a teasing voice.

The sun was warm on Connor's skin and Murphy's grin warmed the inside of his chest as well,

"As et' so happens, _no_," Connor said honestly, "et's all me' own and et' may just be my best yet."

Murphy raised his eyebrows and flicked his burnt out filter through the fire escape bars once he'd taken a final drag from it,

"Alright, so what is et'?"

Connor gave Murphy's face a slow, adoring once over as his brother exhaled smoke slowly from his nose and Murphy just watched him knowingly, his gaze calm and somehow intimate. As if he knew what Connor was thinking and was encouraging it with those damningly gorgeous blue eyes.

Connor had to take a quick, subtle breath before he could speak,

"They set a date for his court case, I just saw et' on the news."

Murphy pulled his face and sighed as he sat forward, absently looking down at his feet and rubbing his hands over his elbows where the traction patterns of the fire escape stairs had left red indents in his skin,

"Motherfucker is goin' te' get off scot-free an' then we'll never get close enough te' kill him _ever_ again." He said quietly, bitterly.

"That's why we're goin' te' kill him **at** his court case." Connor said confidently.

Murphy looked at him with a frown and snorted,

"There yeh' go again, talking crazy shit like yeh've lost yer' fuckin' mind." He said irritably but when Connor just continued to look smug and sure and amused Murphy narrowed his eyes, "Fine, I'll play along…" he rolled his eyes, "…how the fuck are we going te' kill him at his court case?" he asked in a low tone.

Connor leaned forward as well, lowering his voice just as Murphy had so that any of the people who lived above or below them wouldn't overhear if their windows were open,

"Et'll be the only time Yakavetta isn't surrounded by his mob goons and the security guards at the courthouse itself won't be quite as trigger happy. They have te' protect the attending innocent people, yeh' know, act in the interest of the law, they can't just open fire on us…" he paused, "…do yeh' see where I'm goin with this, Murph?" he smirked.

Murphy cocked his eyebrow,

"Aye, I do, an' I still say yeh've lost yeh' fuckin' mind, Connor." He frowned deeper, shifting so he was leaning closer, their shoulders touching, "Yer' suggesting we walk right into a fuckin' courthouse, with loaded fuckin' weapons and shoot Yakavetta in front of a room filled with law officials and fuckin' witnesses. Do I have et' right?" his tone was entirely sarcastic.

But Connor didn't feel offended,

"Aye, **exactly**."

Murphy scoffed, laughing a bit before he rubbed his hand over his face and his mouth, shaking his head.

So Connor decided to explain,

"No one knows what we look like Murph, we can literally _walk_ into that courthouse and not be recognized."

"An' what about the metal detectors, huh, Connor?" Murphy asked logically.

"We have Smecker on our side fer' a reason, Murph, if the man can't get us past a minimum wage security guard then he really isn't worth a thing, is he?" he shook his head.

Murphy continued to frown, but he was clearly considering Connor's point,

"An' what about the witnesses…" he gestured with his hand, "…there'll be cameras, Connor, the press."

Here Connor smiled, not grinned or smirked, but genuinely smiled, affectionately at Murphy,

"Let them be, Murphy…" said twin looked at him like he'd grown a second head, "…let us deliver Yakavetta to God where people can bear witness…" his tone turned meaningful, full of conviction, "…let us send a message, a warning te' all evil men that they should fear us." Murphy's eyes were starting to narrow, interest and understanding shining clearly,

"A warning…" Murphy said seriously.

"Aye…" Connor nodded, "…so what do yeh' think, Murph?"

Murphy smiled at him, his own honest smile, affectionate and loving,

"I think et's fuckin' genius."

Connor laughed quietly and tipped his head, expression smug again,  
>"Well, I didn't want te' say so me'self, but yes, et' is."<p>

Murphy shook his head, grinning, before he reached up and grabbed the back of Connor's head and for a heart stopping second Connor thought Murphy might kiss him, but the glance his twin cast to the window told him Murphy wasn't going to be so bold or careless. He did however press their foreheads together and they closed their eyes for a few blissful seconds.

When Murphy drew back he asked,

"When is the court date?"

"About a month from now."

"Yer' going te' tell him yer' plan?" Murphy asked about Il Duce.

"Aye, I will." Connor answered, wondering if Murphy would ever stop referring to the older man as 'Noah' or 'him'. Connor had slowly started to use the word 'Da' and the man seemed pleased by it, but not Murphy, he wouldn't say it and when Connor said it he didn't look impressed either.

Murphy shifted so he could pull his cigarettes out of his jeans pocket as he sighed. Connor watched him for a few seconds and then he glanced to the window, the curtains were obscuring the inside of the kitchen from them and Il Duce had been in his bedroom all morning, so Connor took a chance on a small thing.

He leaned in to the side of Murphy's neck and said twin tensed at the risky action, even if it was mostly innocent, it wasn't something brothers did.

Connor pressed his lips in a soft, light kiss to the point on Murphy's neck where his pulse quickened, against his Mary Magdalene tattoo.

"Connor…" Murphy mumbled warily.

"Let's go out for a while, Murph, let's go te' church…" he drew back as he suggested this.

He and Murphy had been attending church –at odd, empty times of day- more regularly and Connor had slowly taken to praying with his brother as usual, even if not exactly as they had before, it was mostly the same.

And Connor had truly begun to feel better for it, his faith slowly but surely being reinforced and he felt stronger, even with the ever present sin of coveting his own brother, of being intimate with his own brother, he was still a man of God.

Although, he had altogether stopped considering asking God for forgiveness where his feelings for Murphy were concerned, since his twin had said he saw no reason to.

Connor still had more faith in Murphy than anyone or anything else.

And perhaps that one sin, their incest, was the one they would keep to themselves, with only God as witness to any of it.

Murphy turned to look at him and after a pause he nodded, his lips tugging into a small smile because church was somewhere Il Duce didn't question them going, and never ever chose to come along to.

So even if they wouldn't get any _privacy_, they would still have some time with just the two of them.

* * *

><p><em>It takes a lot to give, to ask for help<em>  
><em> To be yourself, to know and love what you live with...<em>

* * *

><p>When they'd been pulling on their coats and putting on their rosaries before they left for church, Noah had finally made an appearance, dressed in his usual dark clothes and he'd asked where they were headed. Murphy hadn't answered, he'd only glanced from Il Duce to Connor and as expected, Connor had answered, saying they were going to church.<p>

Their father had nodded _approvingly_ and bid them well and once they'd been alone, walking down the street in the direction of the nearest church, Murphy's expression of distaste at the older man's unwanted validation had finally eased away. And Connor had grabbed him around his shoulders and ruffled his hair with a hand playfully.

Presently they'd arrived back at the apartment an hour and a half later, locking the door behind them as they did out of habit when going or coming. They'd been talking about good memories from McGinty's and Murphy had suggested they should go and see Doc before they did their last execution, since after that they wouldn't get another chance. Connor agreed,

"Aye, we should also call Ma…" he added.

Murphy nodded,

"She'll probably be contacted by the police after they find out who we are, so we should let her know first."

Connor nodded as he pulled off his coat and dropped it over the back of the couch,

"I wonder if she'll be pissed at us?" he smiled.

Murphy had also removed his coat and he placed it on top of Connor's,

"She's crazy so I doubt et', but she'll definitely tell us te' be good boys…"

"…an' make us promise not te' fight." Connor added.

They smiled fondly as they thought of their mother and both of them headed into the kitchen, moving around in sync, grabbing select items to make sandwiches with, butter, ham, cheese, onion, tomato. Once they were done preparing their food, Murphy grabbed an apple and Connor grabbed a bag of potato chips and then they sat down at the table to eat.

Twenty minutes of eating passed and when they were done they smoked a cigarette and drank a beer each and only then did it occur to Connor that their father hadn't come out to greet them or even made a single sound or appearance.

Connor got up from his seat, carrying his near empty beer in hand, and left Murphy smoking and finishing the bag of crisps as he walked through the apartment, all the way to their father's bedroom, where Connor knocked.

There was no answer after three knocks so he opened the door and discovered an empty bedroom. He glanced around and saw that Il Duce's trench coat was gone, which likely meant he'd gone out.

It was a first, the man hadn't gone off anywhere on his own since they'd all moved in together, he'd either spend all day in his room doing God only knew what or he'd be in Connor and Murphy's presence.

But now…they were alone. In a _private_ space. For the first time in two months.

Connor walked out of the bedroom, unable to help his mind from wandering to how he hadn't been able to get close to Murphy in so long, and he shut the door behind him before checking the bathroom on his way back to the kitchen. When he walked back in, Murphy looked at him whilst in the process of lighting a new cigarette and Connor raised his eyebrows,

"We're alone, Da's not here."

Murphy raised an eyebrow,

"Are yeh' sure, he's been here _every fuckin' day_ for weeks." He said blandly, dropping his lighter on the table and scratching at the side of his head with his cigarette hand as he exhaled smoke.

Connor nodded as he sat down again,

"Aye, I'm sure, I checked his bedroom an' the bathroom, he's not here."

Murphy stared at him.

"What?" Connor asked with a frown.

Murphy's eyebrow tracked up again, lips pursing as a small smirk graced his face, his fingers fidgeting with the cigarette absently,

"Yeh' look a little warm." He said in a teasing voice and if Connor hadn't been blushing before he certainly was then,

"Oh, shut et'…" he sipped his beer and averted his gaze to the far wall.

"D'yeh' want to…?"

Connor looked at Murphy and was about to say 'what' again, when Murphy glanced in the direction of the hall…where their bedroom was.

Connor's mouth went dry, because what did that look even _mean_?

He decided to play along and tease right back, even as his stomach did unspeakably annoying butterfly flip flops,

"Oh, yer' quite bold…and what do yeh' suppose we'll do there that we couldn't do here." He asked because they'd never even been to second base.

Murphy continued to watch him, smirking, blue eyes intense and playful,  
>"We'll have te' see what we have time fer'." He said in a soft, intimate voice.<p>

_Jesus Christ_, Connor already felt himself getting hard. It was kind of pathetic, especially since he doubted they'd do more than just some kissing and light petting, since that was as far as they'd ever gone.

Murphy stood up, cigarette in one hand and with his other he lightly cuffed Connor's head as he passed. Murphy didn't say anything, he didn't need to, Connor's shiver of anticipation was too strong to be just his own. Connor got up and followed, his beer abandoned, he didn't even hesitate as he made his way into their shared bedroom behind his brother, shutting the door after himself.

Murphy took a few finishing drags from his cigarette where he stood between their single beds and then he stubbed it out in the ashtray as Connor approached him. It was silent enough in the apartment that they'd hear if Il Duce came back and the man always knocked on their bedroom door which eased most of the concern about being caught doing something so sinful.

Connor didn't wait, he started kissing Murphy immediately after quickly licking his lips and Murphy inhaled audibly when their mouths contacted after so long, partially open and warm. He reached up to hold Connor's wrists when Connor took a hold of Murphy's face and the back of his neck, angling their mouths so he could kiss Murphy properly and deeply.

Murphy kissed him back with a little more vigor than he had the last time they'd kissed, 2 months felt like forever ago, and Connor felt a swell of excitement and hope at Murphy's eagerness.

He drew back from the kiss and instead pressed his lips to Murphy's chin, then his jaw, smiling,

"Yeh' seem a bit different, Murph."

Murphy moved his hands down over Connor's forearms and then settled them on Connor's lats,

"Aye…" was all he said in a low tone.

Connor wondered if that meant his brother was starting to feel something similar to what he felt for his twin.

God, he hoped.

He spent some time kissing Murphy's neck, enjoying the taste and scent and the sound of hitching breaths, daring to lick and kiss at the hollow of his twin's clavicle before he found Murphy's mouth again, where he lightly bit his twin's bottom lip on a heated exhale before he kissed Murphy again. Despite Murphy's bold words in the kitchen, Connor wasn't actually expecting more than kissing. So when his twin broke off the kiss and sat down on the bedside before leaning back on his elbow and gesturing for Connor to lay down with him, Murphy's gaze intimately intense, Connor's breath stuck in his chest and his mouth nearly fell open.

But Connor kept it together even as his pulse raced, he placed his hands either side of his twin's head when Murphy lied flat and Connor lowered his body weight slowly, adjusting his legs so one was positioned between Murphy's legs where they hung off the bed…and Connor couldn't help pressing his thigh against Murphy's crotch.

Murphy swallowed tensely, noticeably, at the pressure when Connor settled and it was clear that the direct contact of Connor's muscled thigh to his private area was pushing a boundary for him, even if it was through their clothes.

"Murph, we don't have te' do anything yeh'-…"

"S'fine, m'fine…" Murphy breathed out quietly.

Connor nodded after a few seconds of looking into his twin's blue eyes and then they kissed once, twice, small pecks before Connor sought a deeper kiss again. Connor hummed softly, relaxing his upper body against Murphy's as he lowered himself to his forearms and Murphy's breath hitched at the weight, the closeness.

Connor above him…against him…intimately. Sexually.

They spent a minute or so kissing before Connor shifted his thigh and he inhaled sharply when he felt it, pleasantly surprised –and so relieved- he could feel that his twin was partially hard inside his jeans. The movement made Murphy start and then still, almost as if he hadn't realized it himself until Connor applied that light rubbing pressure.

They stopped kissing and looked at each other with half lidded eyes and slow, heavy breathing and to Connor, Murphy seemed embarrassed. Connor didn't understand how or why, since he was _fully_ aroused, but then again, he wasn't pressing that part of his body against his twin, so Murphy wouldn't know for sure.

So he did, slowly Connor adjusted his hips so that his pelvis was pressed against Murphy's through their clothes, eliciting a shaken exhale from Murphy, before Connor kissed his twin's cheek and then his ear,

"Can I touch yeh', Murph?" He whispered, eyes sliding shut as he pressed himself against Murphy again, and then again, a little firmer each time, slowly working up to a gentle thrusting motion.

Murphy's breathing became audible and quick and Connor waited –trailing light kisses along his twin's neck- until Murphy breathed out a quiet 'aye' before Connor kissed his mouth again. Slowly one of Connor's hands migrated lower, slipping between their bodies and Connor stopped the light grinding of their hips in order to cup Murphy's semi through his jeans with a firm hand.

Murphy made a muffled sound of shock into Connor's mouth and Connor had just about managed to stifle a moan when he felt the outline, the growing length beneath the denim of Murphy's jeans. He could also feel the tension mounting in Murphy, a steadily increasing buzz in the back of his mind, so he tried to diffuse it. Connor kept his hand still against Murphy as he forced control over his raging, long dormant sexual drive and then he drew back from the distracted kiss to smile playfully at Murphy,

"I guess we know now that I came out first." He teased his brother in a raspy, low voice.

Murphy's eyes narrowed, instantly his face flushed red,

"Oh, fuck you!" he said loudly and before Connor knew it Murphy had flipped them and he was straddling Connor's waist and holding him down by fistfuls of his shirt collar, "Yeh' can't claim that, Connor, I'm not even properly hard." He had the presence of mind to say that second part quietly, his face near Connor's own.

Connor just grinned,

"Oh, is that right?" he asked with a pleasant, teasing lilt, "Perhaps we should see what's te' be done about that." And he flipped them again.

But they'd run out of bed and wound up on the floor with a collective thud, neither twin was phased by it though, having grown up roughhousing they were used to worse.

In the end though, they weren't roughhousing and the atmosphere, the entire situation between them, was different. So when they landed, breathing heavily, flushed and aroused, with Connor between Murphy's legs and their bodies aligned in all the right places…they didn't continue to wrestle.

They looked at each other for a heated moment, blue eyes to blue and then Connor leaned in and inhaled deeply as he kissed Murphy roughly, balancing on one forearm as his other hand threaded into Murphy's smooth, dark hair, taking a light grip.

Connor started to move his hips again, pressing their bodies flush, rubbing their clothed bodies together.

Murphy made a groaning noise when Connor moved and his eyes slid shut as his hands moved to find themselves a place to touch, to hold on. One settled on Connor's lower side and the other tightly latched onto his untidy hair as Murphy's lean body pressed up into his.

From there it was a world wind of sensation for both men.

Having been celibate for years, they could do little else other than _feel_ and just about remember to breath, getting completely lost in the sensation of dry humping one another, rubbing and pressing.

It was a simulation of sex between them, arousing them both for what it all could _really_ be…the position, the thrusting, the mixed moans and grunts, the kissing, the **feelings **–pleasure and need and desire- and so many emotions neither had ever felt when they'd been with other people…it was hot and intense, sweaty and full of breathing, moving, moaning and clinging.

The pleasure Connor felt building in his body was amazing since he felt Murphy's too and vice versa. So when they came it was mere seconds apart, one triggering the other with the shared rush of orgasm, their mouths open, breathing harsh, lips sliding together as they groaned shakily into one another's mouths between sloppy kisses. Murphy was shaking, felt in the entire length of his body beneath Connor, who trembled as well, his full body weight rested atop his twin as orgasm moved through him in waves and pulses.

It felt fucking incredible.

"Fuck…_Connor_…" Murphy sounded slightly desperate and anxious too as he breathed those words.

And Connor wondered if the reaction was because the weight of their sin was a distinct presence in that moment. As was the wetness staining their underwear now that the friction and heat were gone, it was turning to cold, dampness mixed with their clammy sweat and the smell of each other's sex, the stench of their sin lingering in the air.

Connor only felt good, despite it all, but Murphy...

He swallowed tensely and they looked at each other, breathing heavily,

"Murphy…?"

Connor worried, deeply, that something would be wrong, that Murphy wouldn't be okay after that.

"Fuck…" Murphy said again, his expression tired, his bent up legs either side of Connor slowly sliding down so they were flat on the floor, "…I fer'got that et' felt so good." he stated quietly as he closed his eyes again and rested his head back against the floor, swallowing slowly, his breathing evening out.

Connor felt relief flood him and he rested his face in the crook of Murphy's neck as he laughed softly,

"Aye…I feel high."

Murphy snorted,

"…the fuck do yeh' know about feeling high?" he asked disbelievingly.

Connor raised his head, frowning down at his twin,

"Shut et', I know shit." And Murphy snorted again, opening his eyes just to roll them.

Murphy licked his lips then and surprised Connor by leaning up to kiss him, softly and slightly wet before he smiled, sincere and almost sweet. Connor hated that he felt the need to, but he asked,

"Are yeh' okay?"

Murphy's expression became serious but still relaxed,

"I am…are you?" his eyebrow hiked up slightly.

Connor just smiled whilst nodding and then slowly they parted and stood up, both uncomfortable in their sticky underwear and their skin clammy with sweat, shirts sticking to their upper bodies. But that didn't stop Connor from grabbing Murphy by the back of his neck without warning to kiss him once more, deeply and slowly with a desperation that was undeniably passionate and laced with love and need.

Murphy's ears turned bright red as his lips, mouth and tongue were thoroughly lavished with attention and it was nothing short of adorable to Connor when he broke off the kiss with an audible smack and took in the sight of his flustered twin.

Murphy took a few seconds, catching his breath as he worried his swollen lower lip with his tongue before he smirked and shoved Connor lightly as he claimed first dibs on the shower.

Connor could only snort and smack him upside his head as Murphy ducked by to get to the bedroom door while snickering.

When Connor stood alone in the bedroom a moment later, his body alight with the _best_ feelings, his heart hammering away, and his stomach light, he was almost unable to believe what had just happened. If it weren't for the drying come in his underwear and the memory of Murphy's shaken, quiet moans against his mouth, Connor would never have believed it to be real.

But he felt _blessed_ – and he was aware of the impiety in that feeling- and euphoric and everything **good**, nothing wrong and nothing evil and it had felt okay, far better than okay, it had felt _right_ and Murphy tasted _right_ and he felt _right_.

Connor inhaled deeply and then smiled to himself as he wordlessly thanked God for Murphy, even though he knew God would not approve.

* * *

><p><em>...it takes a lot to breathe, to touch, to feel...<em>

* * *

><p>By the time they'd both showered, smoked several cigarettes, had had several beers and were lying in their individual beds in the dark…Il Duce had only just returned and he was closed into his bedroom again. Neither twin had asked about where he'd been and he hadn't said.<p>

Connor still felt high and blissful as he lay in bed, every memory of touch and kiss with Murphy warmed him to the core and having his twin just about a meter away just added to his contentment. It was wonderful, he hadn't been so content, so happy, since before his feelings for Murphy had developed, when he'd been fine with only their brotherhood.

But there had developed a void deep inside of him when he discovered his incestuous feelings for Murphy and now, gradually, it felt as though it was being filled in, like something that had been missing was being replaced bit by bit.

Connor felt so peaceful and calm.

"YA ozhidal, chto eto chuvstvuyete, kak grekh , kogda vy kosnulis' menya." (I expected it to feel like a sin when you touched me.) Murphy said quietly and unexpectedly, speaking in Russian, which as far as they had learned was one of the languages they spoke that Il Duce could not speak or understand, along with German, "Ne tol'ko potselui, no na samom dele prikosnulsya ko mne , vy znayete?" (Not just kissing, but _really_ touched me, you know?)

Connor opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as he absorbed his twin's serious words, Murphy's tone suggested he was thoughtful and he sounded tired, he was probably worried about repercussions and the Lord's forgiveness or wrath,

"Menya, kak khorosho , chtoby byt' chestnym , ya dumal to zhe samoye…" (Me as well, to be honest, I thought the same thing…) Connor said quietly with a light frown, "…that was before anything happened though." He added the last part in English.

"An' since?" Murphy reverted to English as well since the conversation could be understood as being about anything if Il Duce could hear them. Connor inhaled quietly, smiling slightly,

"Honestly?"

"Aye."

"Et' feels…" he hesitated, wondering if he'd upset Murphy by saying that such a wrongful thing had felt, "…right."

There was silence from Murphy for a painful, long minute before Connor dared to ask,

"An' what about you, Murph?" Connor breathed quietly and chanced a glance over to the other bed in the dark room, where Murphy was lying still, on his back, staring at the ceiling and Connor sighed and raised his hand to rub his face, frowning slightly.

Then Murphy inhaled audibly, slowly,

"Et' doesn't feel wrong." He practically mumbled.

Connor chewed his lip,

"What do yeh' **feel**?"

"Boyus'…" (I'm afraid) Murphy said so quietly it was practically a whisper.

Connor frowned deeply,

"Why?" was all he could think to ask.

"…because et' shouldn't feel okay, but et' does."

Connor felt relieved and he heard Murphy laugh quietly, he'd probably felt Connor's sudden ease of tension through their connection,

"I'm not going te' change my mind, Connor." Murphy said softly as reassurance.

Connor turned his head to look at Murphy through the dark and his twin did likewise,

"Unless yeh' really want te'…" Connor said despite how empty it made him feel.

But Murphy just smiled at him from across the short distance,

"I won't." he said simply and then turned to face the ceiling again, closed his eyes and made an honest effort to sleep as he exhaled softly.

Connor stared at Murphy's shadowed face for a long time, for long minutes until he finally drifted off to sleep to thoughts of Murphy's soft lips, his pleasantly bitter kisses and his truest smile.

* * *

><p><em>...the slow reveal of what another body needs.<em>


End file.
